


Episode 3: Lost Things Being Found

by The_Raconteur_24601



Series: Borrowed Time (and Space) [3]
Category: Doctor Who, The Borrowers - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Mild Violence-not too gory, Slight Hurt/Comfort, non-romantic companion, you don't have to read/see borrowers to follow
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-10
Updated: 2016-01-19
Packaged: 2017-12-18 05:26:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 30,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/876126
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Raconteur_24601/pseuds/The_Raconteur_24601
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(formerly Things Lost, Things Found. I felt like this flowed better.)<br/>The tables have turned; this time, it's the Doctor's five-inch-tall companion Zepheera's turn at the reigns as she shows him how her people's life and society works. Thrown into a completely different world than what he's used to, the Doctor's a bit out of his jurisdiction, and he starts to feel that he may be losing his grip on Zepheera. Especially when a young man becomes involved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Today

**Author's Note:**

> PREVIOUSLY (**spoiler warning**skip if you've read the first two parts):  
> After having to say goodbye to Donna, the Doctor resigns himself to travelling alone. But that was before a small creature named Zepheera stumbles into the Tardis. She's part of a secret race known as borrowers, who are never taller than six inches and take what they need to survive from humans without them noticing. He is intrigued by her and vice versa, and before either of them knows it, she's travelling with him. During their unintended misadventure in time, an alien artifact came into Zepheera's possession: a simple gold ring that could manipulate the size of anything, animate or inanimate (which is utilized at the beginning of this fic).  
> On their first official trip--to a planet of museums in the 66th century--she's captured by a group of research scientists who run experiments on her, ultimately injecting something into her that causes extreme stress on her brain. When last we left off, Zepheera was in recovery after the Doctor miraculously saved her brain from melting, but not everything could be recovered.  
> Another extraordinary thing about Zepheera is that she appears eighteen, but because of an encounter she'd had as an infant, she has remained eighteen for over seventy years. Only the Doctor knows how long she's capable of living.

Chapter 1: Today

One of the first things the Doctor did when Zepheera was first accepted onto the Tardis was explain to her in full detail The Rules, beginning with ‘Don’t wander off’ immediately followed by ‘If you’re going somewhere without me, you tell me where, why, and with whom’. Zepheera agreed to these two easy enough, although they sounded like the same thing to her. The list of Rules was surprisingly lengthy and included also ‘Don’t ask stupid questions’ (to which Zepheera tilted her head quizzically and said “What’s a stupid question?”) and ‘Time is not the boss of you. I’m the boss’ (to which Zepheera stood at attention on the console across from him and did a little two-fingered mock salute and said, “Yes sir, Mister Boss Man,” to which the Doctor fought back a grimace and said, “Yeah, don’t salute,” in a slight tone of exasperation that didn’t seem to be directed at Zepheera.)

But today…today was different. Today, it was up to Zepheera where she and the Doctor went and with whom. Today, just for today, _she_ was Mister Boss Man.

“I’m not going to apologize for ‘offending the dignity’ of your coat, I never said anything bad about it!”

“You said it looked like a doll’s!”

“I said it _could easily pass_ as a doll’s.”

“ _Easily!_ ”

“In a good way!”

“Janis Joplin gave me this coat!”

“Well, good for Janis Joplin!”

The Doctor and Zepheera continued on down the Tardis corridor in silence, Zepheera’s arms crossed loosely over her chest, the Doctor clutching his folded brown overcoat to his own. Truthfully, neither of them was angry with the other, and they almost simultaneously got over themselves.

Both were dressed in entirely new outfits (Zepheera in a pair of light brown trousers, a deep blue tunic that came halfway down her thighs, a light red shirt and boots she’d found in her en suite wardrobe and altered to look homemade; the Doctor in a shirt with a lopsided blue plaid pattern, a light green jacket over it, and trousers of a deep burgundy color), both carried packs on their backs, and both of them were borrower-sized. They were trekking the long halls of the Tardis in this fashion so that Zepheera could quiz him. She wanted the Doctor’s first and only appearance in borrower society to go well, if not perfect. It wasn’t often Zepheera had the opportunity to transform a friend into a borrower, if only for twenty-four hours.

It was a little less than a week after the whole Museum Planet incident, and Zepheera’s recovery had gone splendidly. The Doctor kept her entertained until she was ambulatory, even bringing her fabrics to work on in her spare time. On top of making both the Doctor’s and her own clothes, she had also made some simple sacks tied up with drawstrings for borrowing—she couldn’t not take the Doctor borrowing while they were at it—and the backpack to hold them in, which the Doctor had on. She had found her simple rucksack in her wardrobe when she found her boots and, not unlike the Tardis, it was bigger on the inside. She saw no harm in keeping it; it’d be a hell of a borrowing bag.

“Alright, we’re almost at the control room,” Zepheera pointed out as they neared it. “I think you have the basic info down. All you really need to know for now is that borrowers are divided into three categories: Innies, Outies, and Nomads—which is what we are going to be today.”

In confirmation, the Doctor replied, “Innies live in human houses and other establishments, Outies live outside, and Nomads are wanderers.”

Zepheera nodded. “You’re also well versed on our backstory just in case the subject comes up.”

“You’re my niece, the daughter of my late brother and his wife, orphaned at such a young age that I took you in as my own.” He had put such a dramatic flair into that single sentence that Zepheera couldn’t help but laugh. She began to think of something witty to say in response, but was caught up when a dilemma crossed her mind.

“Oh!” Zepheera exclaimed, grabbing the Doctor’s sleeve, bringing them both to a halt in the middle of the control room floor. “You need a borrower name!”

The Doctor’s brow rose, as though the thought had only just occurred to him as well, and then he frowned thoughtfully. “I don’t suppose I could just call myself John Smith, eh?”

Zepheera shook her head. “Sounds too human. Hold on, let me think.” She assumed a look of deep concentration as she filed through the name of every borrower she’d ever met, reviewing all the male names she could think of and sifting through the female names in case any of them could be altered to belong to a man. And then, out of the blue, she thought of it. She looked up into the Doctor’s brown eyes and knew it was a perfect fit.

“How about Aster?” she said finally.

“Aster…” The pseudonym rolled right off the Doctor’s tongue. It definitely wasn’t the worst name he’d ever heard and indeed, he could live with being referred to as such for a day.

Zepheera beamed as they started walking again. “It suits you. I got it from a borrower I knew a _long_ time ago,” she mused. “He was a lot like you: clever, strong, witty, and very _very_ old.”

“Not _as_ old as me, I should hope,” he joked.

She chuckled and was about to reply when she realized that directly ahead of her and the Doctor were the doors. She craned her neck to peer up at them.

“Ah,” she said quietly, calculating the distance between them and the handle. “Didn’t think about that. Erm, no chance that you kept your sonic even though I told you not to?”

She frowned when she turned to look at the Doctor and he was smiling at her. He took her hand and backtracked, pulling her along.

“Stand back,” he said importantly.

“Seriously?” she rolled her violet eyes. “You think you can just go ‘Open Sesame’ and it’ll—“She trailed off when the Doctor raised a hand in position to snap his fingers, a knowing smirk nearly splitting his face.

_Click_

The instant his fingers snapped, the door creaked open as if by magic. Zepheera shook her head at the Doctor’s goofy grin, which was in reaction to her brief expression of awe.

“You think you’re so cool when you do that.” She gave his shoulder a light shove and started out of the Tardis without him. The Doctor rushed to catch up to her, easing the massive door shut as he went.

“I _am_ so cool!”


	2. The Oaks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am IMMENSELY sorry about the delay, there really is no good excuse for it. But I'm back on track and I hope that a longer chapter (and a Classic Who reference) makes up for it. (:
> 
> Revised 11/25/15

It was entirely up to Zepheera where and when they went, the only exceptions being she couldn’t run into herself or anyone else significant in her life. Aside from that, she got to choose the time and the place. She was a bit vague in her description, requesting somewhere in the countryside in England, sometime in the 1980’s. When she and the Doctor left the Tardis, the year in which they landed was unclear; what _was_ clear was that the Tardis had landed in a thin patch of woods, and it was raining.

The Doctor threw his trench coat over himself and Zepheera as they headed in the direction of Zepheera’s choosing—although it didn’t make much of a difference as they were getting plenty wet with mud up to their knees (she reasoned later that the dirtier they were, the easier they could pass off as nomads).  

After they had been going on like this for a while, they came upon a large smooth rock that sloped up out of the mud and grass; they headed toward it as soon as it was in sight, gaining refuge, at least, from the now nearly thigh-deep mud. Zepheera threw herself onto it, catching her breath. The Doctor had taken note that the rain had begun to let up and the canopy above them was enough that they probably wouldn’t need to use his coat to keep cover from it; he shook off a few large raindrops that still stuck to it, wringing out whatever moisture he could.

It was the sound of rushing water that caught his attention. Turning to look out past the rock’s edge, he noticed a roadblock straight ahead.

“Ah, Zepheera…?” he urged, glancing back to where she was wiping the layer of mud off her boots with her hands.

“Hm? What is it?” She rolled into a seated position and got up to see what was going on. She followed the Doctor’s pointing finger and her shoulders slumped.

Directly in their way was a creek, half-hidden by long grass and diverse foliage but plain and clear from where she and the Doctor now stood. It was plain that it was too wide across, too deep, and the water was flowing much too quickly for them to wade through.

“Fan-bloody-tastic,” she sighed, irritably flicking the mud off her hand, splattering it on the rock.

“Language,” the Doctor muttered reflexively as he shrugged off his knapsack so he could put his coat back on.

Raising an eyebrow at him, Zepheera adjusted her own pack on her shoulders. “Right. Let’s follow the bank. Maybe then we’ll find a way around, or maybe a bridge across or a shallow end.”

The Doctor agreed, and with Zepheera in the lead they slid off the rock onto the gravelly bank where there was much less mud than the way they’d come. Even the rain was a little easier to deal with.

“What happens then?” he wondered.

“Then we find borrowers,” said Zepheera matter-of-factly.

“Oh. That simple, eh?” said the Doctor with a hint of skepticism.

“Should be. We’ll come across a house sooner or later. Or maybe run into some outdoor types. Either way, we’ll get a bite to eat. All the excitement this morning, I accidentally skipped breakfast.”

The Doctor frowned in confusion. “You’re sure that anyone we meet will just feed a perfect stranger?”

“Positive.” Zepheera turned to face him, walking backwards with her hands in her pockets. “Borrowers share and borrowers care. One of those big lessons everyone learns, even if they don’t learn to borrow. We’ve all got nothing but each other and what we borrow, no reason to distrust one another and every reason to help others keep on living.”

Having made her point and effectively silenced the Doctor’s questions, she faced front once more and the pair continued on.

About twenty minutes later, the rain had become a drizzle, forming a sort of haze so that the pair could barely see more than a few feet ahead of themselves. They were still using the bank of the creek as a guide when the Doctor suddenly grabbed Zepheera’s shoulder.

“Do you hear that?” he asked, his eyes still darting every direction.

Zepheera listened but could only make out a soft noise in the distance over the sound of the creek. It came and went and rang out all over again, sounding almost like…

“Is that a voice?” Zepheera asked the Doctor, who she knew had superior Time Lord hearing.

The Doctor blinked, seeming to have pinpointed the source of whatever he heard. “Someone’s shouting. They’re shouting for us!” he announced excitedly. With an enthusiastic glance back at her, he broke into a run.

Zepheera followed suit, trusting the Doctor’s superior hearing. Sure enough, from within the foggy haze appeared two silhouettes of borrowers. Now Zepheera could hear as well the deep cry of “Ho there!” coming from the larger of the two figures who was waving his arms widely at them.

“Hullo!” the Doctor called back, waving his own arms with equal vigor, and he and Zepheera soon closed the space between the man who had been shouting for them. He was middle-aged but looked extremely spry; his eyes were a bright yellowish-green, his hair ginger. He had with him a young boy, no older than seven, who had inherited his father’s looks apart from his magenta eyes and a patch of freckles across his nose and cheekbones.

The man explained: “My son here was climbing our tree and saw the two of you by yourselves. He worried that you two were in trouble and he came straight to me.”

“Oh! It’s not a problem really,” the Doctor waved it off immediately. “We’re just sort of passing through. Lovely to meet you, though! This is Zepheera, and you can call me Aster.” The Doctor held out his hand to the man, quickly balling it into a fist when he remembered that rather than shaking hands, borrowers held out a fist while the other pounded the top of it twice and vice versa.

“Rutchell,” said the man, carrying out the handshake alternative with both the Doctor and Zepheera. “This is my son Bug. You’re quite a…unusual caravan. And travelling rather light, not to be rude.”

“Mudslide,” Zepheera cut in. “Right after the rain started, washed away our whole camp along with most of our gear. We just managed to grab a few bags and get away.”

It was clear by Rutchell’s reaction that he regretted bringing up. “Oh…And, the rest of your group…?”

“There were no others,” she assured him. “It’s just us.”

Rutchell nodded, brow creased in thought. “Well, Aster,” he began, turning back to the Doctor, “If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask. I’m sure my wife wouldn’t mind if you and your daughter needed temporary shelter—”

“Oh, no, she’s not mine,” the Doctor interjected; at the same time, Zepheera said, “He’s my uncle.”

Rutchell frowned a little, taking this in. As he looked from Zepheera to the Doctor and back, she could see him putting two and two together, and the thought that resulted was quite disheartening. “Oh,” he said simply, his voice thick with sympathy. “I see. Well, even so, you two are still welcome to join us if you like.”

Zepheera and the Doctor exchanged glances. She gave a little shrug as if to say “It can’t hurt”. The Doctor nodded once in agreement and said to Rutchell, “We’d love to,” with a wide grin.

The man smiled and asked them to follow him, and they did. Little Bug tugged at his father’s shirtsleeve and said in a rather squeaky voice, “Daddy, what’s a mudslide? It sounds like fun!”

 

It wasn’t long before a large, thick-trunked oak tree came into the small group’s view. By then the rain had stopped altogether, and the mud in this area wasn’t nearly as deep as before.

Zepheera whistled, impressed, as she peered up at the brilliant canopy of the tree they were approaching. “Guessing that’s ‘your tree’ that you mentioned earlier?”

“Indeed it is,” Rutchell nodded, indulging a tired and complaining Bug in a piggyback ride. “It’s been ours ever since the missus and I settled in. Makes a rather comfortable home as well.”

The Doctor tilted his head, intrigued at this new angle. He was no stranger to seeing things that were beyond their usual scale, but that didn’t make them any less of a sight to raise his brow to.

“And that would make yours the Oak family, correct?” he asked with a side glance at Zepheera, who nodded. She had informed him beforehand that rather than being inherited from parent to child, borrowers’ last names described a landmark near or around their home. He was simply testing his knowledge.

“That’s us,” replied Rutchell, chuckling when Bug pulled his way up to sit on his shoulders. “Isn’t that right, bud?” he grinned as the exhausted child dropped his head onto Rutchell’s. Bug gave no reply, seemingly having fallen fast asleep on his father’s head. Zepheera laughed lightly at the sight, tucking a lock of her damp hair behind an ear as they neared the tree’s base.

Rutchell groped at the bark of the tree for a moment before finding a notch in the wood and pulling. A circular section of the bark swerved out as if on hinges, revealing the glowing warmth of their home inside the tree. Zepheera and the Doctor followed Rutchell in.

The inside of the tree had a surprisingly homey feel to it. The first room was quite large around and had a spiral staircase carved from the very heart of the tree which no doubt led to other rooms; there was a sitting area in which various makeshift chairs were placed as well as a chest-of-drawers or two, a table made from a bit of slate and a spool, and a load of random knick-knacks lay about on the floor waiting to be made of use. On the opposite end of the room, a small fire pit had been carved into the floor and lined with clay, over which a freckled blonde woman, no doubt Rutchell’s wife, was busy cooking some kind of meat.

The instant his feet touched the floor, Bug was once again alive with energy, no longer showing any sign of fatigue as he shot up the stairs. The woman at the fire turned when she heard the door open and closed, just when she was removing the still slightly sizzling meat from the heat of the flame. It became clear right away that she was very pregnant. She covered her morsels with a fresh green leaf before hobbling over to kiss her husband.

“Who’s this, dear?” she asked cheerily. Rutchell introduced Zepheera and ‘Aster’, and she told them that her name was Thess. “Make yourselves at home! We’re quite used to entertaining. Stay as long as you need, rest, dry off. Goodness, you must be soaked to the bone!” she exclaimed, rushing to help take their bags and the Doctor’s coat, which were all hung on pegs near the door. On the opposite side of the door hung borrowing equipment, Zepheera noticed as she and the Doctor were herded to the sitting area.

As they settled down into chairs, Thess went to make them each a plate; it was apparently lunchtime. Rutchell went back outside on his own business. Zepheera was removing her boots and socks when the Doctor leaned toward her and asked in a low tone: “What did Rutchell mean earlier when he said we were an ‘unusual caravan’?”

She explained in a hushed tone that nomads ordinarily travelled in small groups of family or close friends of three or more, usually much more. It wasn’t unheard of, but it was a little odd for any nomad to travel alone or even in a pair.

“Hungry?” Thess called from the kitchen side of the room.

“Famished,” replied Zepheera immediately, eagerly accepting the plate (coin) that Thess handed her. The Doctor was given a similar dish: a few bits of steaming chopped meat with a small bread roll to go with it. Without putting much thought into it, he partook and seemed to enjoy what he ate. Thess returned to the kitchen to prepare tea.

“What?” he shrugged when he noticed Zepheera looking at him oddly.

“Nothing,” Zepheera shook her head casually, tearing off a section of her roll. “It’s just, I’ve never seen anyone eat field mouse for the first time that quickly.”

“Is it?” the Doctor whispered; his brow rose as he took another bite of the meat, paying more attention this time. “Tastes an awful lot like chicken,” he pointed out.

Zepheera laughed lightly, her own brow lifting as she looked at him, impressed. If he kept up this accepting and open-minded attitude, this might go off without a hitch.

After they’d eaten their fill, Zepheera got up, shivering slightly in her drenched clothes, and went to warm and dry herself by the stove fire. She sighed contentedly, closed her eyes and combed through her damp, slightly tangled hair with her fingers as the heat of the flame washed over her like a blanket. She wasn’t sure how long she had sat like that when Thess came over to her with a small wooden bowl of steaming liquid, breaking her out of her thoughts.

“Drink this then, dear,” she said gently as Zepheera took the drink from her. It was some kind of herbal tea that tasted somewhat familiar to Zepheera, but she couldn’t quite put her finger on where she recognized it. Glancing in the Doctor’s direction, she saw that he had risen from his seat, a hand in his pocket as he paced slowly around the room with curiosity while the other hand held his own hot drink.

“Thank you.” Zepheera took another sip before setting the cup aside for the moment. She raised her eyebrows when, with a grunt of effort, Thess came to sit down next to her.

“You remind me a bit of my eldest,” said Thess suddenly, rubbing her distended belly in soothing circles. “His name’s Scrip, shouldn’t be too much older than you.” She smiled gently at Zepheera. “He’s always been interested in the World. As soon as he hit his teens, he jumped at the opportunity to help out his father with his business. He sometimes accompanies Rutchell on supply-borrowing trips. And he has these remarkable notions of travelling the entire World someday.”

Zepheera nodded, a thin smile of her own forming. “What kind of business do you mean?” she asked curiously, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. Thess took another sip of tea before beginning her story.

“Well, when Rutchell and I first make a home of this tree, we quite often encountered nomads, not unlike you, who were trying to find safe passage across the creek. That’s when Rutchell got the idea. Using old teapots and other boats we’d made, he would ferry any borrower who asked down the creek.”

“That’s thoughtful of him,” Zepheera mused. “And you said that he also goes borrowing?”

“Yes, when we have the need. There’s a house about a field and a half away where he goes and does the borrowing. He tells me that the borrowers there are quite a friendly bunch.”

Nodding again, Zepheera said, “That's probably where we're gonna head. We're a bit short on supplies at the moment.” Inside, Zepheera was bubbling. This was  _perfect!_  But she managed to keep a straight face.

Before Thess could respond, they simultaneously noticed that 'Aster' and Rutchell, who had come back inside, were having their own conversation. At this, Zepheera allowed herself a small amused smile; the Doctor was talking up Rutchell like he would anyone, seeming to handle himself really well. She had high hopes for this little tour.

Wrapped up in her own thoughts, Zepheera didn't notice Thess looking at her with a bit of sadness in her eyes. It was Thess who broke the short silence that had fallen between them.

“I know that it's none of my business, but I just want you to know that I am truly...sorry.”

Zepheera glanced back at her, but stayed quiet a moment. She had known when she had made up her and the Doctor's backstory that she'd get this reaction. She didn't have to tell Thess about her parents for her to know. It was rare in their society for a child to be in the care of another family member or guardian without said child being an orphan. Zepheera simply said “Yeah” and gave a little shrug as if to say 'It's alright, I'm used to it'.

After that, she quickly finished off the rest of her tea and helped Thess to her feet, thanking her again and putting away her dish; she walked over to the Doctor, who was beaming and clearly feeling proud of himself.

“Did she tell you about what Rutchell does?” he asked in an excited whisper. She nodded, but he went on before she had even lifted her chin. “ _Brilliant_  stuff! Amazing! You lot, I am telling you.” He probably would've gone on, but Zepheera had brought a finger to her lips; in his ent _h_ usiasm, he was increasingly getting louder. Remembering to lower his voice, he continued: “And Rutchell says that once the creek has calmed down, he'll be able to give us passage across. Shouldn't be too long now.”

“Great. Thess says that there's a house they borrow from down that way, says the borrowers there are real friendly; perfect next stop for us,” Zepheera reported, a grin to match his nearly splitting her face. “I could probably ask Rutchell if we could borrow some of his gear; we'll be coming this way on the way back to the TARDIS anyway.”

Try as he might, the Doctor couldn't suppress a giggle. Zepheera raised an eyebrow at him. “What?”

“It's just...we're borrowing borrowing gear from a  _borrower_.” He gave in to another fit of giggles.

Zepheera rolled her eyes but smiled. “I swear, you are such a  _child_  sometimes,” she chuckled as she moved away from him and toward Rutchell as he came back in; he had left to take inventory in one of the storage rooms.

“Oh, there's no point in being grown-up if you can't be a bit childish every now and then,” the Doctor countered, following her.

She didn't respond, but she did smile at his statement as they approached Rutchell. He was glad to lend them a few supplies, insisting that they always had extras. So they both received a grappling hook made from a long length of twine tied to an abandoned fish hook—a multi-purpose tool that made almost any job easier—and Zepheera favored a long hat pin, looking rather like a sword in her hands. The Doctor didn't say anything about it even as she stuck it through her tunic so that it hung at her left hip, but he didn't take any such weapon.

Before they knew it, Rutchell announced that the creek was calm enough to ferry across, and the pair gathered their bags and coats and prepared for departure. They were just going through the back door when Thess stopped them, handing a covered basket full of leftovers from lunch to Rutchell.

“Make sure that Scrip gets this,” she told him, and he nodded and gave her a peck on the forehead before saying that he’d be back before she knew it. The Doctor and Zepheera said their goodbyes to Thess and Bug and then followed along a grassy downward slope. Soon, they had disappeared underneath the long grass that lined the banks of the creek, reappearing on the ingeniously made and cleverly hidden docks in which the Oaks’ boats were moored.

Rutchell directed them to a relatively small dugout canoe just big enough for the three of them, “since it’s just the three of us,” he said. They obediently got into it, though Zepheera shot a longing look or two at one of the teapot boats. She had never used one, and she was certain the Doctor hadn’t. But she shrugged it off, however reluctantly, as Rutchell untied the boat and pushed off the bank with a long stick which he used to propel the small vessel forward.

It was a quiet ride seeing as Zepheera and the Doctor couldn’t openly discuss their plans in front of Rutchell. Anyway, they were far too busy with the view. The rain had cleared up and moved on, and the sky was just starting to open up and let the sunshine in. Halfway in, Zepheera excitedly tapped the Doctor’s shoulder and directed his attention to the most vivid rainbow she’d seen in a long time. It seemed to split the skies with its colors. Both the Doctor and Zepheera were disappointed when the ride was over, believing that it had been much too short.

The second the boat touched land, another figure came out of the tall grass and helped Rutchell tie it off. It took a second for Zepheera to realize that this was Rutchell and Thess’ son, Scrip. For some reason, the way Thess had described him, she had expected him to be a young man in his late teens/early twenties. The actual sight of him surprised her mainly because he couldn’t have been older than fifteen. He obviously took after his mother as far as looks. He had short strawberry-blond hair, held back by a bit of dark cloth tied as a headband.

Once the initial shock had worn off, she took the boy’s extended hand and he helped her out of the boat. The Doctor shortly followed. They were briefly introduced and Rutchell gave Scrip the basket of lunch from his mother. As the boy went off to eat, Rutchell led them a short ways away from the bank until they could see the house in the distance. It was very large, easily three stories tall. They thanked Rutchell one last time and, exchanging adventurous glances, started forward.


	3. Here There Be Maids

Chapter 3: Here There Be Maids

“Right, a few things,” Zepheera began, getting to business right away as they walked, the house becoming nearer every minute. “If you get into a situation or you have questions about stuff, just come to me anytime. Otherwise, just improvise. I’ve gathered you’re good at that. Oh! And, if at all possible, try to avoid the word ‘human’,” she added swiftly.

“What’s wrong with ‘human’? It’s the correct term, and I’ve heard _you_ use it loads of times,” the Doctor countered.

“Of course _I_ use it, because I’ve lived longer and I know better. But as a group, we’re not a very…literate lot, and we have our own terms for things. The closest we get to calling them human is ‘human beans’—or just ‘beans’ for short—and when speaking of them generally we sometimes call them Big People.” After a second of thought, she amended, “Actually, in your case, it might be best not to mention humans at all. No offense, but we’re both a bit biased on the subject.”

“None taken,” he said, agreeing to these terms without really saying so. He considered reminding her not to wander off, but he knew that she knew that he was mainly following her in this little adventure. He was being completely divulged into this situation and she was his only guide. She couldn’t afford to leave him alone. With that comforting thought, they continued on, keeping the rest of their thoughts to themselves.

As they got closer to the house, Zepheera started off towards the side, edging around until they came upon a grating in the foundation. It was simply covered with vertical bars that she and the Doctor could easily fit between.

“Gimme a boost,” said Zepheera. The opening was too high for her to get to on her own, and even the Doctor would need a little help. So he locked his fingers together and lowered himself, she stepped up and he hoisted her up. She crawled onto the rough brick and then lay on her stomach with her arms dangling down. Taking a run up, the Doctor leaped and kicked up on the gritty wall, which gave him an extra push that brought him to the perfect height to take Zepheera’s hand. She pulled him up and they hopped down on the opposite side, into the dark crawl space underneath the house.

It didn’t take long for the Doctor to spot what could only be a staircase hidden amongst a pile of discarded bricks, and they headed there straightaway. This brought them all the way up into the space underneath the floorboards. A long corridor stretched straight and wide before them, dimly lit with plain Christmas lights, which they followed. Just to see where they would lead.

The lights snaked and wound along several passages, ultimately leading through a large knothole into the insides of the walls.

“Ooh, I haven’t seen one of these in _ages!_ ” Zepheera ran ahead and bent down near complex-looking contraption on the floor, beaming excitedly.

“Ooh,” echoed the Doctor, joining her, reaching in his coat for his spectacles before he remembered he’d left them on the TARDIS. At first glance it seemed to be a jumble of gears and pulley mechanisms, and Zepheera was about to explain it but the Doctor had already puzzled the contraption out.

“It’s a lift,” he concluded as he stood, his eyes following the string that came down from the dark, ceiling-less void above them, ran through the mechanism and looped back up to its source, presumably. He couldn’t see the end of it in this lighting, but he could assume that it went pretty far.

“Yeah,” Zepheera nodded. “Really early model. Still clever, though. Last time I saw one of these, I was – Hey, wait for me!” she snapped when she realized the Doctor had already grabbed the loop of string dangling from the main rope and was preparing to activate the system. Zepheera shot to her feet and took hold of the Doctor; he wrapped an arm around her and kicked a latch on the lift mechanism. With a whizzing noise, the two of them shot upwards in the air at a reasonable speed (not too fast so as not to yank the Doctor’s arm off, but fast enough to make the journey last only a few seconds) and they were stopped by a knot in the string half an inch above the Doctor’s hand.

They alighted on a narrow platform about halfway up the wall, the Doctor approximated, and Zepheera was released. “Whew!” the Doctor exclaimed, grinning madly as he straightened his coat with vigor. “That was exhilarating!”

“You could say that again.” Zepheera took in and let out a long breath; old-fashioned lifts like these never failed to get her heart going.

“Whew! That was exhilarating!” the Doctor repeated with a playful look.

“Har-har. That’s going on the list of things I’m never saying around you again,” she said with a somewhat amused smile, rolling her eyes as she moved toward the lift mechanism on this end.

“Since when’s there a list?”

“You’ve just given me reason to start one." 

With a light chuckle, Zepheera reset the mechanism by pulling the string the reverse way and waiting for a click. The Doctor meandered along the small platform, quickly finding an oddly shaped makeshift door carved into the dry wall. Light flooded into the darkness as he opened it and ducked out carefully. He found himself on a countertop in a sunlit room, standing between the wall and what could only be the back of a microwave oven.

"Bit quick to the draw, aren't we," Zepheera teased as she too emerged, closing the door (which, the Doctor noticed, was cut in the shape of the wallpaper pattern) behind her. She pulled one or two simple drawstring sacks out of her knapsack and the Doctor did the same. 

"Follow my lead," she whispered, slowly peering around the microwave's corner. She nodded once, indicating the coast was clear, and the two darted out of hiding.

While Zepheera got her bearings and contemplated their next move, the Doctor took a moment to let this new perspective sink in. All around was a kitchen not unlike any other Earth kitchen the Doctor had ever seen, but at this scale?! Even on the counter, which had to be the height of a moderately-sized office building, the ceiling seemed impossibly far away. It was a like having binoculars for eyes, seeing everything blown out of proportion. He really _must_ do this more often!

"Psst!" Zepheera hissed, breaking him out of his reverie, and he whirled around to face her. She had neared the edge of the counter and was motioning for him to join her. He strode over and Zepheera pointed at a drawer; it was partially open, the gap was easily one or two inches wide, and from the inside could be heard muffled shuffling and a few quiet grunts.

"Looks like we're late to the party," she mumbled, crouching near the opening.

The Doctor copied her movements, bending down to peek at the partly-lit contents of the drawer, clearly a junk drawer. He was just about to try and hail the attention of the borrower inside, but just like he had with the two travelers and the drawer, he beat the Doctor to the punch.

"Somebody up there?" called the man; he sounded older, perhaps mid-forties to early fifties, but friendly. More shuffling, and then the man's half-lit silhouette appeared in view of the pair. "Ah. Hello. Hang on a mo', I'll be right up."

He then proceeded to climb up using whatever was lying around him, a rather difficult task considering nothing around him was very stable. After noticing his difficulty, the Doctor and Zepheera stood in unison; the Doctor placed one foot on the front of the drawer for extra leverage as he reached a hand down to the man and pulled him up, and Zepheera helped him transition to the countertop.

"There we are, up you come," grunted the Doctor as he did his part.

"Thanks loads, mate." The man smiled gratefully at them and let his bags, which were numerous and appeared rather full and heavy, drop to the counter. He'd had four bags, two slung over each shoulder, and a small spool of white sewing thread tucked under one arm; as he set down the latter, he stretched his shoulders out and rolled his shoulders. He was tall and spry, and although his hair was tinted a silvery gray – the kind that suggested the man once had black hair, which still remained nearer the roots – his eyes made him seem fifteen years younger.

"Well, hello again," he said warmly, "I don't believe we've met."

“Haven’t, no,” answered the Doctor, bouncing ever so slightly on the balls of his feet. “Never been down this way, my niece and I. Isn’t that brilliant? She’s Zepheera, I’m Aster!” he beamed, holding out his fist for the man to pound in manner of greeting, which he did presently.

"Tow'er," the man nodded, chuckling lightly as Zepheera hopped excitedly forward and offered her own fist. The Doctor's brow rose and his smile widened in the slightest as he watched her and Tow'er carry out the greeting; she seemed just as excited about meeting more borrowers as he was, maybe even a bit more. He briefly wondered how long it's been since she'd last interacted with her own people, aside from the Oaks earlier. He didn't ponder on this long because Tow'er turned back and addressed him.

"So, nomads, I take it?" he asked.

"That we are!" the Doctor answered cheerily, " Hit a bit of a hitch, all our supplies washed away during the storm. Nothing too serious," he assured, " _but_ we’ll be needing to borrow a few things, and then we’ll be on our merry way."

Tow'er's brow rose and he glanced from the Doctor to Zepheera and back. "'We'?" he repeated; he didn't sound particularly confused, more like pleasantly surprised.

It was lucky that Zepheera knew what he meant by this, because the Doctor couldn't think of an answer on the spot.

She nodded and broadened her smile a bit. "He's teaching me to borrow," she said proudly with another nod in the Doctor's direction, both an indication and a subtle signal to the Doctor to follow her lead; he nodded his agreement. "Y'know, so the skill isn't lost."

"Oh, I see!" Tow'er enthused, and he clapped the Doctor on the shoulder in a friendly manner. "Well, good on you, mate!"

The Doctor's forehead creased and he kept his smile firmly set as he mumbled his thanks despite his mild confusion.

"Well," said Tow'er as he bent down to shoulder his borrowing bags once more, "I'll let you get to it then. The missus'll be wondering where I've been anyways. Ah, thank you, dear," he added warmly when Zepheera picked up the spool of sewing thread for him so he wouldn't have to bend his back again. With that, he made his way across the countertop toward the microwave.

"Oh!" Tow'er called, turning back around, sounding rather like he'd forgotten something. "Just a heads-up, the house is pretty much empty except for the maid. Didn't want you to get caught by surprise."

"Cheers!" thanked the Doctor, waving Tow'er off as he disappeared.

Zepheera let out a long breath. "So! Pop quiz?" she said as she strode over to the open drawer. "What did we get from that conversation?"

"Ah. Well, he seemed rather surprised to learn about you borrowing," he recalled. He and Zepheera began a careful descent into the drawer.

"Yeah, kinda forgot. The eighties, still not very common for girls to be taught borrowing. Not uncommon enough to start an uproar, so we have open-minded folk like Tow'er in our favor."

"Seemed like a decent bloke," commented the Doctor as he offered a hand to help ease Zepheera down a rather steep drop to the bottom of the drawer. She politely declined with a simple gesture and made the drop without blinking.

"Yup. It's a wonder he found time to borrow at all, what with the wedding."

" _Wedding??_ " To the Doctor's recollection, there hadn't even been a _hint_ of such a subject during their brief talk with Tow'er.

Zepheera nodded, slinging one borrowing bag over her shoulder while adjusting the drawstring on the other. "Hard one to catch, that one, especially for nomads, but I'm old and that makes me really very good." With a bit of a smirk, she continued, "I'll give you a hint. It was the spool of white sewing thread. Mull that one over while we get started; you go on that side, I'll take this end."

They split up and as the Doctor waded through the seemingly endless mass of discarded things, he set his brain to work.

"Well, white's usually associated with weddings, on Earth especially. Beautiful bride in white. But why does that necessarily _mean_ that it's for a wedding?" he thought aloud. Zepheera kept an ear out as he rambled on, probably not realizing he was doing it, as she scanned her half of the drawer.

He continued: "What else is white? White's– _well_ , white's a light color. Or shade. And that connects—or doesn't connect—to borrowers because... A borrower's job requires agility, stamina, and most of all, stealth, correct?"

"Correct."

" _So!_ In order to be stealthy, you have to blend in. ...Ohh. Blend in in the dark. Makes sense: nighttime's when the house is quietest, when you wouldn't expect a visitor, but in case you _were_ interrupted, you'd have to be able to hide in plain sight. _Therefore_ , you would avoid wearing white and other light colors most of the time, which only adds the value of wearing such colors at weddings. Oh! That's brilliant."

"I keep telling you, we're a smart bunch." Zepheera bent down and picked up a medium-sized button. It was a swirling mix of red and blue plastic and she rather liked the look of it, so she stuffed it into her borrowing bag. "Also, white's a hard fabric to get. Supposed to show how committed the families are to the espoused. Not many borrowers can manage to scrounge up enough to dress up both the bride and groom, but they try to get at least one thing for each to wear."

"The groom wears white as well?"

"Said so, didn't I?" she craned her neck to see that the Doctor was well into his side of the drawer. "Now, enough chit-chat, let's get borrowing."

The Doctor nodded. "Right." That was why they were here, after all.

He turned his attention to the multitude of things staring him in the face. He didn't have the first clue what to grab.

"Er, Zepheera?"

"Yeah?"

"What am I looking for, again?"

"Anything useful. There's no real agenda."

"Right," he repeated. There was a pause. "And, what exactly fits the definition of 'useful'?"

She chuckled lightly to herself, but he still heard it. "Just use your imagination. You'll think of something."

"...Right."

So, with a slight frown, the Doctor looked around; he recognized everything around him and knew all of their functions in human terms, but now everything was blown to a much larger size so he had to try and think of things like a borrower would.

He started simply with a paper clip by his foot. He picked it up and turned it over a few times in his hands. _Paper clip_ , he thought, _used to hold stacks of paper together and to make those silly little bracelet chains with._ And it was perfectly normal, apart from the fact that it was as big as his forearm. But what else could be made of it? Upon testing it he found it pliable yet resilient, making it strong but easy to manipulate. Suddenly loads of ideas popped into his head: it could easily become a clothes hanger, a climbing tool, a splint or some other kind of medical aid, and with proper soldering equipment, anything really.

A slow grin crept across his face. He could get the hang of this.

He was about to shove what would be his first borrowing when he caught sight of something else. Only a few feet away—or, he supposed, inches; he's yet to get completely used to this new scale—he'd spotted a partly crumpled up sweet wrapper, large enough to have belonged to a chocolate bar. Tossing aside the paper clip, he stepped over to it and gave it a thorough once-over. Whoever had eaten its contents was one of those people who preferred to open at the seam rather than tearing the wrapper to shreds–which the Doctor found ironic considering they were also the type to chuck it in the nearest drawer instead of the bin. In any case, the wrapper was still pretty much in one piece.

Running his hands over the slick, albeit slightly crinkled material, he remembered when he first met Zepheera and she had been wearing an old vest made out of almost this exact material. She'd lost it through circumstances that were arguably the Doctor's fault, and even though she'd been provided the means and materials to create and put together her own ensembles—not to mention an expansive and diverse en suite wardrobe—he still felt a bit guilty about that.

Biting his lip, he glanced over his shoulder to see if Zepheera was looking; when she wasn't, he began to fold, roll up, and stuff the wrapper into his bag. He'd surprise her with his first borrowing later.

After that, it was like a switch had been flicked in his brain. He quickly gathered an entire batch of borrowings from paper clips to buttons, bits of twine to pencil tips, and by the time his first bag was about two-thirds of the way full he was feeling quite proud of himself and his work.

Suddenly the Doctor's smile melted, his ears perked up, and his brow creased. In the distance but constantly becoming nearer, he could hear rhythmic and rather large-sounding footsteps. He snapped up and locked eyes with Zepheera, who had meandered a short distance further into the drawer. She could hear it too, and she could sense the approach of a human; the hand that didn't hold a borrowing bag grasped the opposite elbow in acknowledgement of the slight ache in it.

"The maid!" they hissed in unison.

Zepheera jumped into action, maneuvering over, around, and through all obstacles standing between her and the back of the drawer. The Doctor slung his bag over his shoulder and began to follow her lead. It wasn't guaranteed that the maid would utilize the drawer, but being prepared if she did was better than being caught off-guard.

Despite this, their luck came to an abrupt stop. The borrower and the miniaturized Time Lord were knocked off their feet as the drawer was opened further. Light bled toward the middle of the drawer and the pair quickened their attempt at flight.  The Doctor paused for a brief second and turned just in time to see the hand creep into the drawer.

Frozen for a moment at the sight of the slender, slightly wrinkled, long-nailed shape—partly out of wariness, a slightly bigger part out of fascination—he watched it sweep across the drawer, disturbing its contents in a wave. Toward Zepheera, who tripped over something unseen and fell out of the Doctor's view.

This broke him out of his reverie and he started determinedly in Zepheera's direction in case she was hurt, but was stopped when the hand now swept in his direction, uncomfortably close. Basic instincts kicked in and he hurried to get out of the massive intruder's way; he vaulted over a stapler, nearly tripped over various things, ultimately becoming cornered by the wall and a wallet held up vertically. He whirled around, back pressed against the worn leather, unable to do anything but watch as the spiderlike hand drew near.

Time seemed to slow down as it groped blindly around, and the Doctor grit his teeth to keep himself from panting wildly as it came a hair's distance from his chest. Soon, but not nearly soon enough, the great fingers closed around the shaft of a red pen and retreated, and only then did the Doctor release the breath he'd been holding. His legs gave out from under him and he slid to the bottom of the drawer. His hearts were going at a mile a minute and he was breathing hard, and he reached out to grab the nearest thing to steady himself as the maid shut the drawer.

Surrounded by complete darkness, the Doctor attempted to stand, steadying his breathing in an attempt to calm his hearts.

"Zepheera?" he called as his eyes adjusted and he peered around. He instantly spotted movement and heard Zepheera let out a soft moan.

"Fine, I'll live." She shoved aside a half-empty pack of chewing gum and sat up scratching her head. She soon caught sight of the Doctor and started toward him. "Are _you_ alright? I mean, I only saw for a second, but...she _did_ get pretty close to you."

"Yeah, fine," he said with a curt nod. Clearing his throat, he added, "Welp. Looks like we're a bit stuck."

Zepheera nodded, turning her attention to the front of the drawer. "Yeah, that's gonna be a pain to get open," she sighed. She looked up at the Doctor and smirked a bit. "Better get started, then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO sorry about the delay, this chapter was a real bitch to write. I must've re-written it about eight times. Anyway, with that roadbump crossed, it should be much easier going after this. Hope you enjoyed! 
> 
> Happy Holidays and a Happy New Year! :D
> 
> Revised 11/25/15


	4. Nicknamed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Revised 11/27/15

So they set to work using what they could find to try and pry the drawer open from the inside, Zepheera with a plastic toothpick that "seemed sturdy enough" and the Doctor with, to no one's surprise, a small Phillip's-head screwdriver. It was evident that if it was even plausible, it would take a looooong while with what little resources they had.

"You know," said the Doctor after a while, half-under his breath as though thinking aloud without realizing, "I'd never—hrk!—could've guessed that a _hand_ could be so—hrk!—terrifying."

Zepheera grunted as she put her weight into her toothpick, practically dangling from it, to no visible effect. "Wouldn't expect you to," she replied where the Doctor hadn't really expected a reply. "I mean, it's normal for you, but really, the hand's the most dangerous part of human anatomy." 

With another grunt she mounted her feet on a nearby box and pushed even harder on the toothpick, ultimately causing it to snap. She flipped over landed uncomfortably and the toothpick shard rebounded into her lap but she was overall fine, and because of this, she didn't see that the Doctor had stopped poking and prying at his end of the drawer's opening to stare at her incredulously.

"What'd you say?"

Zepheera was in the middle of getting back up when he said this, and her eyes snapped up to meet his at his voice. She could see it all over his face: he had made the connection that his anatomy was close enough to a human's to fit into her comment. A pang of guilt sent a chill through her stomach and as she stood she felt the need to explain herself.

"I should preface this by saying that none of this applies to you," she said as she dug around for another prying implement to replace her shattered toothpick, "because I trust you and I know you'd never do anything to hurt me."

She glanced over; the Doctor nodded and went back to work, still listening and still frowning a bit. Taking a deep breath, Zepheera continued.

"At first glance, you'd think that the feet would be the things to be the most wary of by default. After all they can easily, intentionally or not, crush a borrower without skipping a beat. But that's just it, the most it can do is crush you. But a hand...a hand has a mind of its own. A hand can grab, snatch, poke, swat, lift, or shove. And when you're  _in_  a hand, you can be squished or crushed, dropped or thrown or...anything."

She paused to shove her newly acquired instrument (a short staple remover) into the crevice.

"See, borrowers thrive on routine, our best choice of humans are those who have schedule. Predictability is our best friend. And the human hand is as unpredictable as they come. And for us, that's terrifying.

"But again, none of that applies to you," she repeated, once again glancing in the Doctor's direction. He nodded again though he didn't make eye contact, but she found relief in the fact that at least his expression had softened several degrees and she returned to pushing on her implement without another word.

Only when she turned away did the Doctor look at her, and then he lifted a hand to momentarily stare at. He tried to imagine what it must look like to Zepheera under normal circumstances, but he remembered that, now that he'd gotten a taste of it, he didn't have to try hard.

He was broken out of his thoughts when he felt the drawer shift in the slightest but noticeably enough. He turned to Zepheera, who was recovering her balance.

"Oh, well done Zepheera!" he elated, beaming suddenly. "I dunno what you did, but whatever it was seems to be working! Halfway outta the dark!"

"Doctor, it wasn't me," she sighed as she began to stack whatever she could find into a pile toward the top of the drawer. "Help me out, we've got company again."

Brow raised, the Doctor grabbed a box of paper clips as the drawer moved again, this time accompanied by a muffled grunt of effort. It wasn't a human, otherwise Zepheera would be behaving much differently. Sounded more like—

"C'mon, let's give 'em a hand," Zepheera urged, climbing up their hastily-made pile, the Doctor following suit; the small gap in the opening was easily reachable from here, and the pair simultaneously attempted to widen it by hand. With a final groan, the drawer was thrust forward by a little more than an inch. Light flooded the space once more and the Doctor and Zepheera could clearly make out their rescuer's silhouette.

"Tow'er!" the Doctor enthused, only to be shushed by the man.

"She won't be long, we have to move!" he hissed urgently, glancing over his shoulder.

The pair didn't need to be told twice, and they slung their respective borrowing bags over their shoulders; Tow'er helped them out of the drawer and the three of them dashed across the counter to the disguised door behind the microwave.

Engulfed in the safety of darkness, everybody let out a sigh of relief distinct from the short breath with which their sprint had left them. As his eyes adjusted, the Doctor felt Zepheera's lithe fingers groping the air, finding purchase on his coat sleeve and gripping tightly. Now that his eyes had fully adjusted, he observed that Zepheera had  ended up much too close to the edge of the narrow platform for comfort. He reached out and cupped her slender shoulder, bringing her in quickly, protectively.

Before Zepheera could protest or say or do much of anything, there was a _click_ and a flash of light; they turned to squint through the brightness at Tow'er, who had lit a small makeshift lantern.

"You two alright?" he asked, concerned. The Doctor nodded, then looked at Zepheera who nodded as well, and this affirmation was enough for him to loosen his grip on her and approach Tow'er.

"How in the _world_ did you know we were stuck down there??"

Tow'er shrugged. "Didn't. See, I was halfway home when my feeling came on and I heard _her_ heading your way – she's never been known to have a light step. Anyway, I had a station nearby so I dropped off my stuff and came to check on ya. Just in case."

" _Well!_ That was lucky!" the Doctor grinned, glancing back at Zepheera as she shifted her bags into a more comfortable position on her shoulder.

Tow'er tilted his head slightly to see Zepheera past the man he knew as Aster. "Not too frightened, were you love?" he asked gently with a warm smile. Zepheera shook her head. He nodded, then considered her and her guardian. "...Y'know, you two look absolutely knackered. I know _I_ am. Why don't you come along with me? I can take you to my place and you can rest up."

"Oh, no, we wouldn't want to impose," would've been the polite response. Rather, the Doctor's beam widened and he said " _Oh,_ that'd be lovely! We'd love to, wouldn't we, Pipsqueak?" He nudged Zepheera affectionately; something flashed in her eyes, but she smiled and said "Absolutely."

"Right then. It's along this way," said Tow'er with a resolute nod, and he turned and motioned for the pair to follow him.

As soon as his back was turned, Zepheera nudged the Doctor back, but rougher and directly in the ribs.

"Ow!" he hissed, "What was that for??"

" _Don't_ call me Pipsqueak," she half-whispered, half-laughed.

 

Tow'er led the pair to a downward-spiraling staircase made of anything sturdy enough; all along it were ropes, protruding nails and other things to help one keep their balance and prevent them from falling off. As the small group descended, Tow'er occasionally asked small-talk type questions to which Zepheera and the Doctor would give a polite, often fictitious answer. They, in turn, put in their own inquiries and learned that he lived 'in a cozy little home under the floor nearby the beans' living room furnace--which is technically a radiator, but we agreed that Furnace sounded better' with his wife Marjora and their two daughters: Cobble, age 10, and Noz, 21, who was due to be married tomorrow. And that night, they were hosting a big get-together in celebration of the wedding, and the entire house's worth of borrowers were going to be there. This was certainly something the Doctor and Zepheera could raise their brows to. It seemed they'd picked the ideal time and place for an outing through borrower culture.

Halfway there, they arrived at Tow'er's aforementioned station, tucked away in the corner of a bend in the wall and lined with tables that appeared to be wicker and racks filled with spare gear and essentials. Tow'er set down the lantern and attempted to hoist his bags onto his back once more. Neither the Doctor nor Zepheera could stop themselves from offering to help; while Tow'er insisted he was okay with at _least_ two of the four bags on his shoulder as well as carrying the lantern the rest of the way, the pair each took a bag to carry in his stead.

Chit-chat began again as they continued on. Tow'er found himself glancing backward often, especially as they animatedly recounted their introduction to the Oaks and the trip up here so far, and he'd smile a bemused, mystified smile. They were such an odd couple, unlike any of the other nomads Rutchell had sent their way in the past. He just couldn't figure what made them seem so...

Before he knew it, they'd arrived at the outer gate protecting his home from pests and predators, one of several in a perimeter around his home, locked with a small safety pin. Tow'er set his bags down for a minute to open the gate and allow the other two inside before him and carefully closing it behind them.

"Well, welcome to my home," he said as they came upon a door and he led the way in.

The difference between the dull, barren corridor in which the Doctor and Zepheera had been standing and the place they now entered was so jarring, the Doctor could barely keep himself from running about whilst closely examining everything. For one thing, it was better lit with small round bulbs in odd places, all connected by wire to some unseen power source. There was a low coffee table – the centerpiece of the spacious sitting room they were now in – made from a couple of building blocks placed side by side and covered with cloth, surrounded by a variety of chairs made of bottle caps and twisted wire, or open ring boxes, or wooden spools of thread, things of that sort; and there were matchboxes stacked atop one another and attached to create makeshift shelves and chests-of-drawers. On either side of the room was a curtain which covered up a knothole that led to more rooms.

As for decorations, there seemed to be no end: the floor, partially covered by a stray envelope, was littered with discarded borrowings such as beads, lengths of string, bobby pins; a moderately-sized watch was nailed to the wall, all of which were papered with colorful scrapbook paper. A load of borrowing supplies and other tools were stashed in one corner, and another seemed to be a designated children's' area – a round yellow building block took the center with little pillows for sitting on the floor around it, and the black queen of a chess set was tucked into the corner alongside a domino and three mismatched dice. Currently, two little girls sat around the building block drawing on scraps of paper with colored pencil lead; one girl had light brown hair, seemed to be about ten and must've been Tow'er's youngest, and the other was a dirty-blonde five-year-old who appeared quite attached to an odd little rag doll. Keeping an eye on the girls was a young man whom Zepheera estimated to be in his late teens, early twenties with the darkest red hair she'd ever seen – borderline maroon – who was idly tossing the smallest of the dice lightly to himself. Just beyond the sitting room lay the dining room and kitchen where two blonde women were conversing, and they were the first to notice that Tow'er was home. And that he'd brought guests.

"Daddy!" His daughter jumped up and ran to greet her father, who dropped his bags to embrace her. He lifted her high, spinning her around to her joyous giggles. "Mummy thought you'd been seen or something," she said with childlike bluntness.

"Well, you tell your mummy not to worry." Tow'er smiled, kissing her cheek as he set her down; she went back to her spot, and one of the women from before, the one with dirty-blonde hair and an apron on over a dark red dress—Zepheera once again likened the color to the young man in the room's hair— approached him.

"Well, you _were_ taking an awfully long time, what was I supposed to think?" she said in a lowered voice, tucking a lock of hair that had strayed from her loose bun behind her ear.

"I'm sorry, Jora, but I got a bit sidetracked," he shrugged, nodding subtly toward the Doctor and Zepheera who were still admiring the room. Doing a double-take, he exclaimed, "Oh! Where are my manners?" breaking the pair out of their thoughts. "Everyone, this is Aster and Zepheera. This is my wife, my daughter over there; in the kitchen's Merjora's sister, Tureen Overmantle, and in here are her children, Chartreuse and Marcue, who are all apparently early."

The Doctor smiled and introduced himself to Marjora who was closest, while Zepheera skimmed the room for the others' reactions. The children were indifferent, lost in their own world; Marjora seemed slightly uncomfortable with unexpected visitors, but she did her best to hide it, bless her; Tureen, on the other hand, appeared delighted at their visit, paying special attention to the Doctor.

Finally, there was Marcue, the young man she'd noticed earlier. Contrary to his mother, his full attention was on Zepheera, so much so that the die he had been previously playing with now lay still, cradled in his hands. But his expression was different from Tureen's. She felt like he was staring into her soul, or perhaps straight through her. She couldn't explain it, but one thing was for sure: she'd never been looked at like that. And it threw her off-guard for a moment.

"Er, Jora, may I speak with you for a minute? Alone?" Tow'er's voice brought Zepheera back to Earth, and she realized that she'd been staring back at Marcue.

"Sure, yeah," Marjora replied, then addressed the Doctor and Zepheera. "Make yourselves at home, rest up, anything you need, feel free to ask," she said with a tight smile that was most likely forced.

The Doctor had just opened his mouth to thank her when Tureen appeared beside him in a flash of light blonde.

"I'll show you around the place," she cooed, batting her bright pink eyes.

"Erm, oh, well, I think I can—Ah! Okay then," he stammered as the woman took him by the arm and dragged him further into the home. He barely got to glance back at Zepheera who didn't have the chance to blink before the two disappeared. Marjora shook her head muttering, "Oh, Tureen..." under her breath as she and Tow'er crossed to the kitchen, leaving Zepheera in the middle of the room.

_Well, there goes the Doctor,_ she thought, unshouldering her rucksack and letting it and her borrowing bags drop against the wall. Remembering that one of them belonged to Tow'er, she heaved it back up and carried it over to the kitchen where Tow'er had brought the other three. She set it next to these, and Tow'er glanced up from the hushed conversation he'd been having with Marjora.

"Oh, thank you darling," he said with a curt nod and smile.

Zepheera hesitated a moment before turning away. Tow'er smiled an awful lot, this had been made clear, but this one struck her as odd; it was the first one that seemed false. But before she let herself dwell on this, she decided that it wasn't worth pondering and shrugged it off, but made a mental note.

She suddenly felt a tug at her outer tunic just as she began unfastening it (it was rather toasty near the active kitchen) and she looked down to find the youngest borrower gazing up at her with big cherry-red eyes. She had on a pastel blue dress with a pink ribbon sash; half of her dirty-blonde hair was tied in a side-ponytail, and she clutched her little ragdoll tightly to her chest.

"Hello," said Zepheera, lowering herself to the girl's level. "Your name was...Chartreuse, right?"

Chartreuse nodded shyly. "People call me Char, though."

"Well, that's easy to remember. Do you want me to call you that?" Another nod. Zepheera smiled, glancing at the rag doll. "And who's this?"

The girl tightened her grip on her precious doll. "Dustbunny. Dusty for short."

"Very pleased to meet you, Dusty!" said Zepheera politely.

Char giggled quietly, still a little shy. "What's your name?" she asked, having not heard or forgotten Tow'er's introduction.

"I'm Zepheera."

"Ze...Sepheem..." The girl's face screwed up in effort.

"Tell you what," Zepheera interrupted after a moment of struggle, "You can call me Zee."

"Okay!" Char smiled. "You wanna color?"

"Yeah, sure!" As she followed the little girl to the makeshift table, she found herself getting genuinely excited. They didn't have colored pencil leads like the ones these girls were using when she was growing up, and she's been far too busy with the rest of her life to do anything...childish like this. So she took a pillow to sit on, pulled over a scrap of paper and the nearest pencil tip.

"So," Cobble began skeptically, sounding like she had put quite a bit of thought into this question. "Are you _really_ from Out There?"

"That I am," Zepheera answered warmly, briefly looking up from her drawing. "Don't suppose you've ever been outside before, eh?"

Both girls shook their heads. "Daddy won't even let me _near_ the grating," Cobble stated. "He says it's dangerous."

"He'd be right," replied Zepheera honestly. "Your dad must be really smart."

For a few minutes, the coloring table was in and out of conversation, starting up again when one of the little girls came up with a question. Every now and then, the feeling of a hole being burned in her forehead reminded her of Marcue, still staring at her like she had three heads and a wing, and she'd glance up at him. Blimey, he could go a long time without blinking.

At last she couldn't ignore him any longer, and she set her pencil lead down and said to him, "What are you staring at?" She tried to sound as non-accusatory as she could.

He blinked (finally), startled, as though suddenly self-aware. "M-me?" he stammered, which was odd because he did _not_ look like the stuttering type. "Nothing. Sorry, I-I just...I have to go. Sorry." He let the die drop and practically bolted for the door.

"What was that about?" Zepheera muttered under her breath.

"Oh, he's always weird like that," said Cobble matter-of-factly. "That sort of thing happens when you grow up, I guess."

Nodding, Zepheera replied, "I suppose so," and then went back to her drawing.

"What'cha making?" Char piped up, peering at Zepheera's paper with a tilted head.

Zepheera's hand froze. She had been absentmindedly drawing, only half-aware of _what_ she was drawing. She smiled at the red plains, orange background and two yellow orbs floating within it.

"It's a...a strange world," she said after some thought, "Far, far away from here."

"Like in a story," the little girl guessed. "What's it called?"

"Gallifrey," she answered without hesitation.

"Sounds made-up," Cobble commented, as if accusing Zepheera of being too childish.

Zepheera chuckled. "It does, doesn't it?"


	5. Dearly Beloved

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Full 'Strawberry' Moon Friday the 13th!

"But who _are_ they, Tow'er? I mean, do you know them? Are they old friends of yours or something?" Marjora asked in a hushed tone as she paced the kitchen, throwing ingredients into a large doll's teacup the size of a mixing bowl.

"Well...not exactly. They said that Rutchell sent them over."

"Oh, please," she scoffed, exasperated. "Whoever heard of nomads traveling in twos?"

"Someone's gotta start sometime, dear," he countered, rubbing the back of his neck.

"Tow'er, why did you bring them here? Rutchell sends nomads this way all the time, but you never brought _them_ here."

Tow'er let out a long breath. He barely understood 'why' himself, and now he had to find a way to make his wife understand.

"Because, I _–_ " he cut himself short when he caught movement in the corner of his eye. Borrowing instincts kicked in, and he whipped his head around to see Zepheera. She was setting the fourth of his borrowing bags, the one she'd carried, next to the others. Putting on a smile, he thanked her tersely before turning back to Marjora and lowering his voice further.

"Sometimes in borrowing, you have to go by your gut –"

"Oh, is _everything_ about borrowing with you?" she interrupted as she thrust a wooden spoon through the doughy mixture in her bowl.

"Just let me finish, will ya? ...When I met them, I felt like I could trust them, like I should invite them over, perhaps to spend the night, I dunno."

"Spend the night??" echoed Marjora incredulously while Tow'er shushed her.

"Well, why not? We have a spare bedroom for when my brother visits, you won't even know they're there, I promise."

"And what about tonight? I still have to prepare dinner and snacks for _twelve_ people already, and now two more??"

"I'm sure we could find something in the pantry. And even if we can't, I'll borrow more before people even start arriving."

"Tow'er Furnace, give me one good reason I should agree to this," she said firmly.

Taking a very deep breath, Tow'er ran a hand through his silver hair contemplatively. It took him a moment before he could gather his thoughts enough to answer.

"Look...Marjora..." At this, her angrily stirring hands slowed to a halt. He only called her that when he was being gravely serious. "There's–something _about_ them. I can't put my finger on it, but they're not...normal, in a strange, mysterious way. And not only that, but I just get the sense that they were meant to come here, to us, at least for tonight, like it was...destiny or something. I-I know it sounds crazy, and maybe it is, but... if you won't do it for them, then please... Marjora, do it for me. And if it means I need to put in some extra work to make it all fit, then I will. I promise. What do you say?"

Marjora considered, trying to ignore the big, bright orange puppy eyes her husband was giving her. This was all so unorthodox and last-minute, but...it had been a long time since Tow'er had been this excited and passionate about much of anything, and that was saying something. And even though all his talk of destiny made little sense, she supposed she could see no real harm in indulging him. With a defeated sigh, she said, "Alright, fine, they can stay _one_ night, and that's it."

Tow'er beamed and energetically kissed his wife. "You are amazing," he thanked, and he turned to heave up a couple of the borrowing bags. "I'm gonna sort out some of this stuff. Is there anything you need from the pantry while I'm back there?" he asked as Marjora began stirring the dough again.

"Er, yes, could you bring me a potato chunk and some onions?"

"Will do." He planted a quick peck on her cheek for good measure before he whispered, "I love you," into her ear and was off.

Marjora blinked, trying to let what just happened sink in, and then she reminded herself of how much work needed to be done in only a few hours and hurried to mix the dough thoroughly. As she set it aside to rise, she snuck glances at the young woman sitting with her daughter and niece, the three of them smiling and giggling and occasionally speaking to or playing with little Char's beloved doll Dusty. For now, she could see no obvious reason to dislike or distrust her, however, she didn't get the same sense that Tow'er described. The only thing she could say for certain was that the young lady seemed to get along well with children.

Tow'er had just returned to give Marjora the things she'd requested when Tureen and Aster returned, and Marjora did her best to concentrate on the task at hand rather than her sister.

...

"And here we are, back in the main room!" Tureen announced, throwing back the knothole-covering curtain with flourish.

"So we are," nodded the Doctor, uncomfortably scratching the back of his head. "Finally..." he added under his breath, and then promptly covered up with a wide, forced smile as he searched for a distraction from the way she was looking at him. "Say, where's that boy gone?"

Brow wrinkling a bit, Tureen skimmed the room and found that her son was indeed absent. Humming thoughtfully, she turned to Zepheera. the next-oldest apart from her busybody of a sister. "Where _did_ Marcue get off to?" she asked.

Zepheera shrugged. "Dunno, he was acting a bit strange and he just sort of ran off. Didn't say where."

" _Oh_ , that sounds rather important—urgent, even!" the Doctor remarked, smoothly removing his arm from the grasp of Tureen's. "I wonder if maybe the poor lad is troubled in any way, needs some good ol' maternal guidance."

Almost reluctantly, Tureen sighed and nodded. "I suppose I _should_ go after him. ... Will you be here tonight?" she added with a hopeful gleam in her eyes.

"Ah...well..." Truthfully, he didn't quite know what the plan for tonight was – he didn't even know if their attendance would be _allowed_ – so he snuck a glance at Zepheera, who was paying close attention to their conversation. She simply flitted her eyes to her right, his left, toward the kitchen which held one occupant. He  turned to Marjora who had also been listening, and he tried his best to plead for help with his eyes. Marjora gave a small nod, suggesting that they had permission to stay. In reply to an oblivious Tureen, the Doctor said at length, "Y e a h ..."

Tureen beamed, flashing a set of pearly white teeth. "Alright! See you then!" The Doctor nodded uneasily, and she turned to the coloring table once more. "Come along, Char, we'll see if your brother's at home. And if he isn't, we can pick out something to wear for the party!"

"Okay!" Char jumped excitedly and scurried toward her mother. She paused to say goodbye to 'Auntie Jora', Cobble, and 'Zee'.

As they were leaving, the Doctor raised an eyebrow at Zepheera. He mouthed, "Zee??" and she interpreted his expression to fully mean, "Oh, so I can't call you Pipsqueak, but she can call you Zee?"

She simply shrugged and looked at him in a way she hoped came through to mean, "She couldn't pronounce my name, she's five," and she folded her drawing of Gallifrey and shoved it in her pocket before he could see it. He didn't need to be reminded of that, and he didn't seem to notice it anyway.

Shaking his head at himself and Zepheera, the Doctor wended his way over toward Marjora, busy as ever in the kitchen; she was peeling and rinsing off a sizeable chunk of potato while simultaneously keeping track of things boiling on the stove and the dough she had left sitting and who knew how many other things.

"Need a hand?" asked the Doctor as he poked his head in.

Marjora breathed a relieved sigh, tucking a stray lock of yellow hair behind her ear. "That would be lovely, thank you. If you could pick up a knife and start on this potato...Oh! and wash up first." she set the potato down on the counter and went to work chopping up an onion's ring the size of a hula hoop on her.

The Doctor obliged, shedding his coat and draping it over the back of a nearby chair; rolling up his sleeves, he strode to the makeshift sink to wash his hands. It, of course, worked differently than a human sink, but he managed to decipher how it worked. As he did this, he noticed Zepheera asking Marjora where the washroom was. Apparently, little Cobble had grown bored of coloring and went off to play in her room. Marjora pointed to the curtain on the wall to their right and told her, "Through there, bear right, third on the left." Zepheera thanked her and left, and the Doctor finished up and started on the potato, not bothering to dry his hands.

For a moment, the only sounds in the room were the chopping of knives and the bubbling of stovetop concoctions. Marjora ultimately broke the ice by saying, "I'm sorry about my sister. I realize she can be a bit...enthusiastic around presumably eligible men."

"Nah, don't worry about it," said the Doctor, shrugging it off. "It was nothing I couldn't handle."

Humming thoughtfully, Marjora turned her attention back to her onion. "She's been like that for as long as I can remember, and especially since her husband passed a few years ago."

The Doctor's hands stopped and he looked at Marjora almost remorsefully. "Oh, I'm...I'm sorry."

Desperate to change the subject, Marjora pointedly made an effort not to look at the man she knew as Aster and said, "Speaking of, my husband asked if you and your daughter could stay the night."

The Doctor suddenly beamed, brow raised. "Did he now? That was nice of him. Well, you don't have to worry about me and Zepheera, we weren't planning on a long visit anyhow. By tomorrow morning, we'll be out of your hair before you remember we were even here."

Marjora smiled but said nothing, silently pleased that he'd saved her the trouble of actually _telling_ him that she'd only allowed them to stay the night.

"Oh, and, by the way," he added in a slightly lower tone, "she's not my daughter. Niece, actually."

Marjora's smile melted. Now it was her turn to glance over at the other, while he kept his gaze determinedly fixed on his task. She felt like she should say something, perhaps offer her condolences, but she bit them back as the right front-room curtain was pulled back, and the object of their discussion entered, pausing a moment to remove her long-sleeved jacket and tie it around her waist. In that moment, Marjora felt a little spark in her chest, imagining it to be the beginnings of whatever feeling Tow'er had felt toward the odd pair.

Zepheera joined them in preparing tonight's meal, eager to help in any way. Conversation came to a halt, with the exception of Marjora telling Zepheera and the Doctor what needed doing and a short moment when Marjora hurried out of the room to fetch something she'd forgotten from the pantry and the Doctor took the opportunity to ask why there was going to be a reception of a sort _before_ the wedding rather than after, as was custom among humans. Zepheera briefly explained that once borrowers marry, their new life starts immediately. The couple decides amongst each other if they wish to stay with their families or emigrate away and begin again. The 'reception', as he'd called it, was one last blowout to spend with fellow borrowers before the real work of being together in a world much too big for them. These, in truth, were embellishments, ideas she'd thrown out that sounded good; she had no real idea why the party came before the wedding, it just did and it had always been that way.

With Marjora in the lead, the three worked until they finished up the last of the main dishes in a third of the time it would've taken Marjora alone. Right on time, it seemed, as guests started arriving soon after.

For the travelers, the next hour or so became a blur of introduction after introduction to everyone but the bride and groom, who were to arrive together later. Zepheera found it best to comprise a mental list of names and faces, categorizing them by their relationships to the betrothed.

** Family of the Groom: **

Rosta and Cog Vent, mother and father of the groom, were first to arrive. Rosta was quite tall, nearly as tall as the Doctor, with long, loosely braided strawberry-blonde hair and big chocolate brown eyes. She wore a floral blue dress that came to a stop just below her knees, contrasting her red lips; she was soft-spoken and charming, quite unlike her husband.

Zepheera was afterwards more than a little embarrassed that the sight of Cog made her eyes widen. The man was just taller than herself, his brown hair graying and receding slightly at the hairline, jaw lined with salt n' pepper stubble, and the most palpable trait: he was overweight nearly to the point that he was as wide as he was tall, a fact not at all hidden by his dark green outfit. Once the initial shock had worn off, Zepheera politely introduced herself, thankful that the man's expectant silvery-blue eyes were more interested in the contents of the kitchen than her reaction. She would later explain to the Doctor per his inquiry that borrowing is quite an athletic activity; one in her society could only fall out of physical shape if something prevented them from doing so. Barring crippling injury and old age, retirement amongst borrowers was extremely rare, especially for a man of Cog's age and ambulatory state.

Later on came the last of the groom's family present in the household, the Clocks: Rosta's younger brother Strapley, a fair young man less than ten years older than Marcue, with smiling mint green eyes and short ginger hair (Zepheera could swear she saw a hint of envy in the Doctor's eyes as he introduced himself as Aster), and his raven-haired, scarlet-eyed and rather pregnant wife Vermilion. They had wed a year prior, and Strapley swore up and down that he just _knew_ that Noz and Osier would be next. The man arrived dressed smartly in a dark blue jacket and trousers and purple undershirt, and his wife wore a bright green floor-length maternity dress that Marjora had made her. Zepheera also took note that he often called his wife Milly.

** Family of the Bride: **

Tow'er, Marjora, and Cobble, immediate family of the bride, they had already met; their attire for the night went as follows, in the aforementioned order: a dark purple jacket over an orange shirt and trousers to match the jacket, the dress she'd worn under her apron but with her hair done up in a fancier fashion, and a bright pink and purple polka-dotted dress with a small pale blue ribbon braided into her hair. The Overmantles returned between the arrival of the Vents and the Clocks, Tureen and Chartreuse now dressed in light blue and mauve dresses. Marcue had changed into nice shoes, brown trousers, and a deep blue jacket over a dark shirt. His hair had been combed back and out of his face, and this time when his indigo eyes met Zepheera's, his gaze was warm rather than piercing and unfathomable.

 

The small crowd quickly got to mingling and, without realizing at first, the Doctor and Zepheera drifted apart, the former engrossed in old borrowing stories told by Cog and Tow'er and the latter getting caught up playing with the young ones and chatting with Vermilion and Strapley about baby names.

His conversation was quite a bit more informative than hers. From Tow'er, he learned that just about every family here, and presumably other borrowers in the world, had specialties besides borrowing, goods and services that they could offer to one another. In the case of the Furnaces, theirs were Marjora's sewing—she had made or altered almost all of the items of clothing worn tonight; not that she alone could sew, but she was by far the best in the house—and Tow'er's wicker work. His father had passed down the craft, and he had always been a natural at it. He could make just about anything, from furniture to baskets, and he promised the Doctor that if he could find the time later he'd show him a small project he had going on.

As for the rest of the household: Cog made shoes and Rosta was a crafty knitter and Strapley had a knack for carving wood, whether for decoration or for things like spoons or cups, and it was handy for him that one of the beans (the father) had the same hobby, inadvertently leaving balsa wood and sandpaper in places Strapley could easily get to. The Overmantles were less productive; with his father dead, Marcue was far too busy supporting Tureen and Chartreuse to indulge in a secondary craft, and Tureen and Chartreuse were too busy being supported. Aside from Noz and Osier, who were the boy's childhood best friends, he kept to himself. His hobbies were a mystery and any desire to learn any craft from his elders was well hidden if it existed at all. The Doctor stole a glance at Marcue, currently talking to Rosta about something while hoisting his little sister up onto his back per her entreatment. Seemed like the boy had it hard, and yet he was able to come down and put on a smile for the sake of others. He could relate.

Cog was in the middle of reciting to the Doctor the story of the knee injury that allegedly ended his borrowing career when the happy couple finally arrived. Their entrance was signaled by applause, and everyone turned to look, Cog a little disgruntled at the interruption; he livened up soon enough.

Noz and Osier were dressed similarly to the rest of the company; standing in the doorway hand in hand, they smiled and waved at their respective families. Noz, Zepheera decided, had one of the most beautiful smiles she'd seen in a long time. Her light brown hair hung in a medium length bob, nearly matching Osier's eyes in color, and the yellowish-green of her eyes was brought out by the light green of her leafy-patterned dress. Osier's dark brown hair was just about the same length as hers, but slicked back so as not to obstruct his perfectly heart-shaped face.

As the applause died down, the betrothed were engulfed by the attention of the present company, reiterating congratulations and you-look-stunnings, leaving Zepheera and the Doctor, who had ended up on opposite sides of the room. They rejoined, both grinning in excitement. Now the festivities could begin in earnest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pronunciation clarification (just in case)  
> Tow'er - Tow as in a towed car and then er, not like a tall tower  
> Osier - not oh-see-er or any variation, but Oh' zher  
> Marjora - MARjora (I know it's similar to Majora's Mask, I swear this was unintentional)


	6. The Borrower Way

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised 11/25/15

Not long after the bride- and groom-to-be managed to migrate over toward the two strangers who introduced themselves as Zepheera and Aster, supper was called for and foldaway tables were brought out to accommodate the abundance if food and guests. Makeshift seats could be found just about anywhere and it seemed that everyone but the travelers had brought their own plates and cups; they were lucky that the Furnaces had spares. Once tables were set, drinks poured and seats taken (the Doctor and Zepheera sat side by side), Osier stood, cleared his throat, and all attention turned on him.

"I'd, er, like to thank you all for coming here tonight to celebrate the love that Noz and I share, and the proof of such love which we will commit to tomorrow and all the days after. But for tonight...let's eat!"

A short cheer of agreement, and everybody dug in.

The food was _spectacular_.  It seemed as though Marjora had used up much, if not all, of her culinary repertoire: bowl after bowl of assorted soups and stews, mashed potatoes as well as cooked, a basket of rolls, assorted vegetables, and not one but _two_ whole shrimp. Tow'er joked that he had to go back for the second one when he remembered that Cog would be in attendance, which got a hearty laugh from everyone. The Doctor and Zepheera were stuffed after their first helpings, but it was all so scrumptious that they were driven to seconds.

And so the meal went on until there was no more to eat. Dishes were cleared, tea was made and offered to all but the children, who were served milk, and light familial conversation started up while the least necessary of the tables were put away. This left a few people without tables, but seats were still around and a few even preferred to stand, so no one was bothered. Zepheera got pulled in when Tow'er asked her, smiling as usual, how long her uncle had been teaching her to borrow; the Doctor, similarly, was asked by curious others about the places he'd been and where they'd come from and just who were they anyway.

Luckily for the travelers, they didn't have to improvise for long.

Quietly at first, someone at the remaining table began to tap out a beat with their cup, as if starting a metronome. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Others joined in, the noise growing steadily louder the more people caught on. The Doctor looked around, frowning slightly; something about all this made the hairs on the back of his neck prickle in some terrible foreboding.

It wasn't until another set of people began a counter-beat – tap a-tap-tap-tap – and Zepheera gasped, "Oh! I love this song!" that he managed to relax. Zepheera shot to her feet in excitement, and the Doctor realized that others were rising to their feet as well. By now, the beat was being tapped out by more than just cups; people were clapping, stomping feet, hitting tables and anything that made noise with their hands. Suddenly, Strapley stood on his chair, a small wood spool, and grabbed his lapels, looking quite important and ignoring the fact that at any second he could fall on his arse. Nonetheless, he started off the merry tune in a key that suited him:

 _Oh, I could tell you a sto-o-ry_  
_Of might and wit and glo-o-ry_  
_But no truer words could I say_  
_Than those of the Borrower Way!_  
_Let me teach you the Borrower Way!_

The entire company joined him in the last line, and this began the dancing. Most of the borrowers gathered in the hastily cleared space of the sitting room, Cog and Marjora as well as a few others (and the Doctor and Zepheera) staying behind and keeping the beat. But before long, Zepheera began to tug on his sleeve.

"C'mon, let's get in there!" she chimed as she continued to tug.

The Doctor resisted. "I dunno the steps!" he protested.

"What steps?" she chuckled. "Just jump in and go with it!"

Finally, he allowed himself to be pulled into the group dance that had come about, the kind that had you switching partners quite often. In fact, he and Zepheera only paired up two or three times per chorus – he could tell it was the chorus by how often it was repeated, each time by a different person in a different key or even no key at all; anyway, it was pretty self-explanatory. The chorus went like this:

 _Borrowers are quiet and ca-u-tious_  
_And never ever con-spic-u-ous!_  
_Alert and brave and handy with string_  
_And very good at cli-i-mbing!_  
_Never seen and never heard_  
_Invisible to the whole wide world!_

And every so often, a verse or two would be interjected between choruses. Everyone seemed to have their own verse, whether they'd heard it before or simply made it up on the spot was nearly impossible to tell. Even Zepheera had one, and the Doctor stopped dead in the middle of the dance to turn and listen. She stood above the crowd on a wicker chair, holding the hand of that boy Marcue for stability. Zepheera's verse rang out loud and clear:

 _Oh, I could spin you a ripe ol' tale_  
_Of enchanted forests and fairy vales_  
_But that's a yarn for another day,_  
_Now I'll teach you the Borrower Way!_

Grinning like an idiot couldn't be helped on the Doctor's part. For one, he'd never heard her sing, and he was pleasantly surprised that she was actually really pretty good! And for another, Zepheera had always indirectly described herself as a sort of recluse from her own people, and now here she was, laughing and drinking and singing like it was her last day on Earth, amongst more borrowers than she'd probably seen in a long time. And in that moment, he couldn't be more proud of her.

As soon as her verse ended, the boy helped her down and she ran through the crowd to embrace the Doctor tightly. A chuckle escaped his lips. "Ah, well done!"

"Thank you," she mumbled into his shoulder; unfortunately he never replied because as soon as they pulled apart, they simultaneously got sucked back into the dance, away from each other.

When at last the room had been exhausted for verses, the song began to wrap up in a strange mix of solo and unison going something like this:

Tow'er (holding Marjora's hand): _From the ants so small to the trees so high/ We stick together,  
_ Everyone: _Never say die!  
_ Osier (dancing with Noz): _From the beans above to the rats below/ We never steal,  
_ Everyone: _We borrow!  
_ Strapley: _So raise your glass and brew your tea  
_ Everyone: _Hey! Borrowers are we!_

Applause filled the space beneath the floorboards once more, and the few who still had drinks in hand raised their cups and chanted "cheers!".

Breathing heavily, the Doctor smiled around at his fellow participants of the dance who were all laughing and slapping one another, including himself, on the back for a job well done. all the while, he skimmed the crowd searching for Zepheera. The second he found her–all the way across the room, breathing just as heavily as the rest–his smile widened and he made a move to push his way over.

He paused when her already elsewhere attention was stolen by that boy grabbing her shoulders and turning her to face him. She grinned abashedly as Marcue lowered himself to her eye level (though he wasn't that much taller than her) and the Doctor saw his lips move in what could only be something like "You were amazing!"

The Doctor's smile became more mild, and with a short sigh and a nod, he turned away. He could tell her how proud he was later. For now, he should let her bond with the present company and he should do the same, discovering all he could on his own in the meanwhile.

...

"So, did my dad say just _why_ he invited you and Aster over tonight?" Noz asked of Zepheera, who was sitting on the floor across from Cobble teaching the child a hand game. They, as well as Osier and Marcue, had settled in a corner of the room away from the older crowd; the boys had their jackets either slung over their shoulders or strewn across their laps, and their hair had fallen into messier, more natural states. Noz sat on a spool and leaned against Osier as he stood, and Marcue settled on a ring-box nearby.

In answer to Noz's question, which was casual and curious rather than suspicious or accusatory, Zepheera shrugged and said, "No, not to me. Never really thought about it til now." Her hands halted and she looked at Noz. "It's not a bother, is it? That we're here," she asked.

"Oh, no!" Noz and Osier chorused. "Far from it!" added the latter, "If anything, your uncle seems to be the life of the party!"

Zepheera's gaze followed Osier's jabbing thumb and she allowed herself a small private smile when she caught sight of the Doctor energetically chatting up Strapley. She got hung up watching him until Tow'er stole him into another room and she remembered what she was doing. She turned back to Chartreuse to continue their game, but she had crawled away and into Marcue's lap. Chuckling lightly, she once again addressed the happy couple.

"Well, I'm glad you don't mind. I mean, it's your wedding after all. Still, I do feel a teeny bit underdressed for the occasion."

...

"'Oo d'ya think they are, though?" Vermilion whispered to Marjora as they, mostly Marjora, made more tea and arranged and brought out a few finger snacks.

Marjora hummed in response, fairly distracted. "Who?"

"Oh, y'know! That handsome fella and – what was it? – his niece?"

Marjora blinked, as though suddenly aware of the conversation she was having. "Oh, them. Well, ah, they say they're nomads..."

"But 'oo do _you_ think they are? An' I mean _really_."

"Well, who else could they possibly be?" inquired Marjora, raising an eyebrow at her sister-in-law and wondering just what she was getting at.

Milly shrugged. "I dunno. They been all round the world. Could be running from something. Like fugitives. Oh!" she gasped, patting Marjora's shoulder in excitement. "What if they're criminals?" she breathed, beaming.

"Vermilion," chuckled Marjora, shaking her head amusedly at the other's eccentricity. "They're _not_ criminals. We don't even have laws!" _Beans_ have laws, she thought, because they can't be trusted to hold one another accountable.

The black haired woman tsked. "You're no fun."

Marjora smirked, then clapped her hands together as she scrutinized the arrangements all laid out on the only remaining table. "Right, is there anything I've forgotten..." she mumbled to herself. Her eyes suddenly lit up and her face split with an eager smile. "Milly, could you find Tow'er, let him know I'm getting out the pudding?"

Milly perked right up as well. "Right away!" and she scampered off as fast as a pregnant woman could.

...

To the Doctor, Tow'er was becoming increasingly more fascinating by the minute. After following the man a short distance through a hallway with postage stamps stuck along the walls like picture frames, he was led into Tow'er's workroom. It was rather bare as far as decorations went, favoring the essentials: a corner desk with a chair and lamp nearby as a main workspace, a shelf that held tools and various materials, tall baskets with long reeds sticking out, toothpicks and other sturdy things presumably used for frames, and waist-high jars made with thick glass that contained Tow'er's resin finish and a clear liquid that, after a short soak, got the reeds "pliable enough to work with without being so soggy as to fall apart" as Tow'er put it.

He thoroughly explained his craft to a closely listening Doctor (or Aster), using a small half-done basket as an example. The Doctor was careful to choose appropriate moments to ask his many questions, not wanting to interrupt.

For instance, "Where do  you get all these materials from?" he asked, peering into the individual baskets.

"Mostly from the pine tree out back," the man replied. "I go out every so often, collect the needles that fall. Usually strip 'em into thinner bits after that, but some of 'em are more useful as they are."

"Thought I smelled pine," muttered the Doctor.

Before long, a knock came at the door and Vermilion Clock poked her head in. She was grinning from ear to ear.

"It's time," she said to Tow'er, "Jora's bringin' out the pudding!"

Tow'er's eyes flashed with excitement. "Already? O-okay, I'll be right out!" Vermilion disappeared and the Doctor, now standing with his hands pocketed, raised an eyebrow at Tow'er.

"It's a surprise for my daughter," he explained as he hastily replaced everything he'd brought out to show the Doctor. "The beans upstairs usually don't have them except around Borrowing Season, but—oh, you'll see, c'mon!"

So back into the heart of the home they went, just as Marjora cleared her throat for everyone's attention. Tow'er joined her and they called Noz and Osier over. By now, the crowd had closely gathered around.

"Darling," said Tow'er to Noz, "your mum and I thought, what with the Big Day being upon us, that tonight should be special. So I whipped up a little something I've been saving for a rainy day." This reference to the day's earlier weather got a few good chuckles. When this died down, Tow'er and Marjora stepped aside to reveal what the Doctor recognized as one of those assorted chocolates, all wrapped up in pink aluminum foil and easily big enough to serve the present company, and then some. Reactions to the treat ranged from ecstatic to impressed; Noz, nearly in tears, rushed to embrace her father and whispered "thank you, daddy," over and over.

"Oh. My. God." a voice breathed beside the Doctor. He started; he hadn't realized Zepheera had come to stand next to him. Her hands covered her mouth in genuine shock, and the Doctor wondered just how long it had been since Zepheera had even come close to something like this.

Almost immediately, it was a battle to retain order as Marjora stripped the chocolate of foil and began to carve it into servable slices like a cake. Amidst the disorder, Cog inquired suspiciously if it was a caramel; strawberry cream, as it turned out, with an all-natural center that was the perfect consistency to melt in your mouth and rich, crunchy chocolate exterior. The Doctor seriously wondered, after taking a bite, if increased size scientifically meant increased flavor. Because it sure seemed like it.

...

"Pretty, ain't she?" Osier playfully nudged Marcue back to his senses. The poor sap had been staring across the room at the nomad girl, mechanically chewing his food all the while. She was sitting alone while she ate, visibly savoring each bite.

Marcue blinked rapidly and replied, "Yeah, I-I suppose she is." His ears turned pink and he took a sudden interest in his plate, picking at its contents uselessly with his fork; his very essence seemed to scream, "I shouldn't have said that I shouldn't have said that."

Sniggering, Osier clapped a hand good-naturedly on Marcue's shoulder. "Ah, Marcue. It seems to me that this situation calls for an intervention." With a sly grin, he grabbed hold of Marcue's other shoulder and slowly ushered him toward the unsuspecting girl.

Marcue tensed up and nearly tossed his food in an act of surprise. "Wh-what are you—Osier, quit it!"

"I'm sorry, but I am not giving up until you at least _talk_ to her—"

"Alright, alright!" Marcue shook himself free, shooting a dirty look at his best friend and soon-to-be cousin before willingly walking over to Zepheera. He'd caught her mid-bite, and she quickly swallowed when she noticed him coming.

"Hi," she smiled, wiping her mouth with the back of a hand, clearing it of excess food that Marcue hadn't seen.

"...Hello," he said at length.

 _Say something!_ he ordered himself. _But what should I say?_  Contrary to Osier's belief, he _had_ spoken to her. But that had been after the song and dance, in the heat of the moment. Now, he needed to choose his words carefully, be sure not to say anything stupid or wrong.

"So, er, strawberry cream, eh?"

Idiot.

Surprisingly, though, she went along. "Oh, it's _so_ good. It's been so long, I'd almost forgotten what it tasted like."

Somehow reassured, Marcue managed a small smile. "Yeah, I can't really remember exactly when my last strawberry cream was. I borrowed a fudge the Borrowing Season before last, though, Char didn't sleep for a week." He chuckled nervously, scratched the back of his neck; desperate to change the subject, he said, "May I sit down?"

"Yeah, sure!" She moved over to give him a little more room.

As he sat, he could feel his heartbeat quicken. He mentally told it to get it together.

...

Throughout the night, the Doctor kept glancing over at Zepheera. He couldn't help it.

By now, most everyone had settled in and were swapping stories old and new. More tea had been served, some with a bit of something stronger dropped in. The Doctor had his plain, and he sipped it slowly as his brown eyes flitted to that spot across the room where he was sure to find his companion engaging in rident conversation with that boy Marcue. He wasn't sure if that should be a comfort or not, but at least she and he were consistently there.

Occasionally something in their body language would indicate to him the nature of their talk (once, the boy pointed curiously at Zepheera's neck and she looked down and began fiddling with her father's necklace – since the incident, she didn't want to be without it again – and she seemed to speak to it, telling the boy about it. The Doctor briefly wondered how much of the truth she was telling him.)

It was while he was checking on her that he suddenly sensed a presence next to him. He turned to find Marjora standing beside him, following his gaze.

"They seem to be hitting it off," she commented.

The Doctor nodded, taking another swig of tea.

After a moment, Marjora tried again. "Tow'er told me that you're teaching her to borrow."

"Yep," said the Doctor, popping the 'p'. He wasn't exactly avoiding her gaze, but he didn't look directly at her. They were silent a moment, and then he felt her inch (or, millimeter) closer to him and when she next spoke, it was in a low tone.

"I realize it's really none of my business, but...don't you think it's a little...irresponsible, taking a young girl borrowing?"

"Well, she's not as young as she seems," he answered. "And she can hold her own pretty well. Actually saved my skin a few times," he added, more to himself than Marjora.

"But it's so dangerous up there amongst those beans," Marjora pressed, brow knit. "Borrowing's really something meant to be passed down from father to son..." She trailed off here, seeming to regain her tact. She bit her lip and studied her dress shoes. "I'm sorry, I forgot she wasn't your..."

The Doctor looked at her, eyes and slight smile soft. "Ah, no need to apologize," the Doctor said with a small shrug. "I know you were only thinking of her well-being."

Marjora nodded, her eyes wandering to where Zepheera and Marcue sat. The Doctor did not follow suit, he was satisfied in that department for now.

"She's an orphan?"

"Yeah," he replied tersely.

"And you're a bachelor, correct?" she asked, hesitating in the slightest.

The Doctor blinked and he looked at her again. He'd never heard it worded that way, but...

"I suppose, yeah," he said after a moment.

Marjora seemed to regret asking and kept quiet. She shouldn't be bothering the man, a near-perfect stranger, with such personal questions, she berated herself. She awkwardly downed her tea.

"Not like there was _never_ anyone," the Doctor continued after a short pause, almost as though he couldn't stop himself. "There was...one. Long before Zepheera came around. But it didn't work out. And after that, it seemed to never work out."

All through his little spiel, he had an expression of reminiscence glazing over his features. He hadn't meant to carry on like this, didn't want to be reminded of all the people he'd loved and lost. Donna...Martha...Astrid...

Rose...

He suddenly snapped back to reality and remembered that he was talking to someone besides himself. He put on a smile to hide behind as he turned back to Marjora.

"And then the accident happened, and I found myself with Zepheera to take care of. We've been inseparable ever since," he said, with a significant amount of chipper enlivening his voice. "That's why I'm teaching her to borrow. Because...she's all I've got."

It was surprising how much truth there was in those last few sentences.

Marjora simply nodded in response. An awkward silence hung in the air between them until her daughter called her over and the two of them walked off.

Heaving a deep sigh, the Doctor contemplated what had just been said. Randomly, he recalled all that stuff Zepheera had said when they'd been trapped in the drawer, and his mind began to wander from there. If what they had encountered back there had only been the hand, he could only imagine how large the entire human must appear down at this scale. How he must look to Zepheera all the time.

As thoughts similar to those circled through his head, he found himself staring at the ceiling, the underside of the floorboards. Without trying, he imagined someone about twelve or thirteen times his current height prying it up, shouting "Gotcha!", causing panic. He pondered what he might do in such a situation, if he'd make sure everybody hurried to get safely away, if he'd distract or try to reason with the—

Human. The word suddenly hit him like a ton of bricks. Sure, he understood that humans were capable of all kinds of things from kindness to cruelty. But he'd never really considered them to be _predators_. That was how every single borrower in the room with him saw humans. And now, so did he. Now he understood just _why_ they made it their creed to never be seen or heard.

And then he noticed something strange.

"Awfully quiet," he muttered under his breath, still frowning at the ceiling. "Where is everybody up there?"

"Gone," said Tureen beside him.

The Doctor jumped in surprise, and she continued with slightly slurred speech, "Went on holiday only earlier today. Lucky, lucky lucky. We'd prob'ly not be as loud as we have been otherwise."

The Doctor stared at her a moment, carefully choosing his reply. Asking if she was drunk was pointless since, going by her bleary expression and breath which carried the distinct scent of tea and something stronger, he already knew the answer. Instead, he went with, "How long have you been standing there exactly?"

"Long enough," she replied tipsily, leaning toward him. "But...we don't have to be if you don't want to, y'know." Her hand slowly – and a little shakily –  crept up his thigh.

O-kay, the Doctor had had enough. He quickly came up with an excuse to get away.

"Ohhhh, actually, I think I hear my niece calling me. It actually sounds rather important, so I'll just go now," he said, moving away from her touch. She reached forward and snatched him by the crook of his elbow before he could get far.

"I don't hear anything," she cooed.

The Doctor's face scrunched up. "I have _very_ good hearing," he countered, pulling himself free and swiftly striding out of her reach.

"Aw c'mon, don' be like tha'," she called after him, but he ignored her, drowning her out by calling Zepheera's name.

But there was no one to answer. She and Marcue, the Doctor realized when he turned to the place they'd been all night, were, to quote Tureen, gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bit of a long chapter this time, hope that makes up for the fact that I'm gonna be outta town for a month and might not get much writing done for a while. I'll try to be quick about it though!
> 
> Feedback is much appreciated!


	7. Music of the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Revised 11/25/15

Outside, the sun had long since set and the moon was rising higher every minute. Un-enshrouded by clouds, it bathed the house, the fields, the trees, everything, in its light. This made it quite easy for Zepheera and Marcue to steal away into the night, climbing out through one of the many gratings in the foundation of the house.

Now, a short time later, all was still. But then came the smallest of movements: up in the old pine tree out back, just above a branch lower than the rest but high enough to discourage any human apt for a climb, a tiny circular section of the bark rotated and disappeared into the tree, and the aforementioned borrowers emerged onto the branch.

Zepheera travelled along the branch a ways, taking in her surroundings before turning back to her companion. "Blimey, you weren't joking about the view, were you?" she grinned.

Marcue had told her much about this tree while they were still inside the house, enjoying tea and strawberry creams. About the room they'd just come from, how his father had discovered it six years ago, just after their family had moved into the house, abandoned but most definitely borrower-made, possibly some sort of hideout or lookout; how he and Tow'er decided to turn it into a sort of clubhouse for Noz, Osier, and Marcue, only fifteen, sixteen, and fourteen at the time. Zepheera had guessed Marcue to have been thirteen, but Marcue insisted that he'd only be nineteen for a few more weeks; she'd also found it odd that Tow'er suggested it in the first place, him being so strict with Cobble about the gratings and all, and he said that it was different, Cobble was ten and innocent, they had all been well aware of how dangerous the world could really be for some time. Plus, who knew, they might need to know how to climb a tree one day, and since that was the only way to reach the clubhouse, it'd make good practice.

All the anecdotes in the world couldn't've prepared Zepheera for this mystery room. Lit only by a small makeshift lantern powered by a dying battery that struggled to give off more than a weak glow, she was still taken aback by the creativity of it all: the wicker-workmanship on the scant furniture, the ceiling painted to look like the sky, even and especially the butterfly wing collection hanging on one wall. Old hobby of Marcue's; he'd explained that he was rather lucky in finding them, either on their own or still attached to the dead butterfly, but he never went looking for them, and certainly not hunting. He also said that Noz would often steal a bit of her father's finish which Marcue used to preserve the wings. Face to face with the collection, Zepheera couldn't help but be amazed at his innovation, awestruck at their beauty, and at the same time be fighting the urge to reach out and touch for fear of disturbing the patterns of color by causing any of the thousands of tiny scales that lined the wings to flake off. Such an act would surely be blasphemous, offensive to nature itself.

In the end, though, Marcue explained that eventually he and Noz and Osier just stopped visiting their old clubhouse. The happy couple, who had sort of always been a thing according to Marcue, had started to become more serious in their relationship, and their focus shifted to that. Marcue, on the other hand, answered the call of responsibility. His father had passed away several months prior to the wedding of Strapley and Vermilion, leaving Marcue in charge of keeping his family fed and comfortable. More than a handful of a task with a very young sister and a rather high-maintenance Tureen.

But, he had added, he still visited the tree. Quite often, actually, though he hadn't been inside the actual clubhouse in a year or two. Just to sit, breathe, think. The landscape, he had promised, was breathtaking, and that's when he asked if she'd like to see, and she said yes.

Zepheera sat down on the branch the moment she'd found the perfect spot: not too breezy, where she could see everything below, and where the foliage above and partially around her was thin enough that she had an excellent view of the clear, starry night sky. Marcue came over, set the pathetically glowing lantern between himself and her, clicked it off since the moonlight rendered it null, and took a seat as well.

"So, does your mother know that this is where you go when you're not around?" asked Zepheera casually.

A pause. "It's, ah,  _step_ mother, actually, but no. She doesn't even know I get out like this anymore."

Zepheera blinked when he corrected her. "Oh, uh, I-I'm sorry," she managed.

He gave her a small shrug and a nod, almost the same gesture Zepheera herself had earlier used on Thess Oak.

It then occurred to Zepheera that she'd neglected to tell the Doctor where she was going and with whom before she and Marcue had left. A pang of guilt hit her at first, but then she decided that nothing could be done about it now, and anyway, they shouldn't be gone too long. Perhaps she'd be allowed a period of grace as a time-travel novice.

After a moment of quiet thought, Zepheera said, "I can see why you come up here so often. It's so peaceful, and just look at that sky! I haven't seen that many stars in..." She let that sentence hang; in truth, she had seen similar stars recently, unavoidable when travelling with the Doctor, she supposed. But in all her time on Earth, it was true, no sky had ever been starrier.

Marcue, much to her surprise, was unimpressed. "Never really made much sense to me, stars," he shrugged. "I mean, what do they even do? They're just lights in the sky. Not much worth the hype, if you ask me."

"Well, I don't think that's the point," she replied, "Suppose they're not meant to do anything at all, but just be there and look beautiful."

Marcue looked at her a moment. He opened his mouth to say something, and then decided against it, shook his head and tore his gaze away, rubbing his neck.

His hesitation hardly fazed Zepheera. She, after all, had plenty things she wouldn't or couldn't share with him. So she followed his gaze and found him to be staring at a house about an acre away, give or take. He had this far-off look of longing in his eyes, and it was clearly a look he frequently wore up here. She smirked.

"Alright. I'll bite. What's so special about that place?"

He glanced at her, as if suddenly aware that he wasn't alone, and then looked back at the house.

"Well, for one, it's where my girlfriend lives."

 

"Zepheera? You in there?" the Doctor called through the seventh door in a row, lightly knocking. And for the seventh time in a row, no answer came. Taking a deep breath, he carefully entered what he knew to be the guest bedroom (though uncomfortable, Tureen's walkabout of the house was informative and he  _had_  been paying attention). Perhaps this should've been the first place to check for her, but he thought he knew her enough to assume that there was no way she'd retire to bed with everyone still out and mingling.

At this point he wondered if he knew her at all.

When yet another room came up empty, the Doctor grunted in frustration and shut the door a bit more forcefully than he meant to. As he moved on to the next room, he contemplated what it meant to  _know_ someone, and if sharing tragic backstories and mending the other fell under that definition.

So wrapped up in thought was he that he forgot to knock on the next door he came across, barging straight in. Two feminine gasps snapped him right back and he averted his eyes immediately before he saw anything he probably shouldn't.

"Sorry! So sorry, I was just--I should'a knocked. I'll just go."

"No, no, it's fine, you can stay," said Marjora. "We just thought you might be Osier."

"In or out, shut the door," added Noz.

Hesitant but relieved no one was offended, he turned back in and let the door shut. The sewing room, he deduced from all the fabrics organized along the walls. But his attention was drawn to the middle of the room where Marjora was touching up Noz's wedding dress with Noz in it. It was one-strapped with a set of ruffles extending at an angle down the side opposite the one the strap belonged to. After a moment of him taking in the dress, Marjora went back to work getting some of the finer details done.

"Bit late to be getting the dress done, isn't it?" he commented. "I mean, the wedding's tomorrow if I heard correctly, and I always hear correctly."

Marjora blinked, her hands hesitating for the briefest moment. "Well, ah, this has sort of been an on-off thing for about a month," she admitted as she sewed. "It was meant to be a surprise for her, y'know, so I'd just work on it while she was out with Osier. But I don't have a dummy quite her size," she nodded toward the wickerwork mannequins in the corner, "and I've been trying to get Tow'er to make one, but he's been as busy as me, so... It needed to be taken in a little. So much for the surprise," she muttered with a bitter hint to her tone. 

"Oh, it's not so bad, mum," said Noz. To the Doctor, she added, "Although, Osier did kinda get the better end of the stick. His suit was done weeks ago."

The Doctor awkwardly scratched the back of his neck, biting back a grimace. "Um, it looks beautiful! I didn't mean...Sorry, I'm sorta rubbish at not being rude, stuff just flies outta this ol' gob of mine before I can stop it. That's usually what Zepheera's here for," he confessed. After a pause in which Marjora and Noz tacitly accepted his apology, he chimed back in. "Talking of, you haven't seen her around by any chance, have you?"

The women shook their heads no and exchanged glances. "But we've been in here a good while," said Noz. "Maybe she went off exploring?" she suggested with an unsure shrug.

"Or off borrowing on her own?" Marjora intoned with a pointed look at the Doctor. Noz's brow shot up, but she kept quiet, barely containing her inquiry.

Furrowing his brow, the Doctor gave a halfhearted nod. "Yeah. Maybe. ...Well, I'd better keep looking. Good luck with the dress."

In his hurry to leave, he almost trampled young Cobble, who had been coming in at that exact moment. He hastily tried to apologize, especially when he realized she was carrying things, but the little girl brushed him off, determined to convey the message she'd been sent to deliver.

"Mum, Miss Rosta asked me to bring these," she said simply, handing the women each a cup of mystery liquid.

"Oh dear, is it really that late?" the Doctor heard Marjora mutter to herself as she lifted the cup to her lips.

Before he could ask–or even blink–Cobble was standing before him again, tugging at his sleeve. "I didn't bring you any Night Drink. We should get more from Miss Rosta." With that, she began pulling him by the sleeve out the door and through the hall. The Doctor managed to hurriedly bid the women good night, and they responded after he was out of sight.

'What the hell's Night Drink?' thought the Doctor as he allowed himself to be dragged through the house by a ten-year-old.

 

"Mum and dad never did get along. They seemed to disagree on everything, always bickered over some rubbish or other. And now that I look back on it, it may have just been that they'd gotten married too young or something. But I was a little kid, and I often thought they were angry with me. Dunno why, I just did. So I ran away a lot, finding loads of hiding places and secret nooks in the house while they fought.

"That's how I met Laitina." At the mention of her name, Marcue seemed unable to hold back a smile. "She was hiding out in one of my secret places, playing with a pill bug she'd found and named Icky."

They shared a light chuckle. "How old were you?" Zepheera wondered.

"Seven, I think. Yeah, we were the same age. From then on that became our little meeting place. We were fast friends, we got along better than the grass with the earth. Of course, it wasn't until later that our friendship grew into something more...romantic." Zepheera could swear she caught a blush before he looked away, continuing. "I had just turned thirteen when one night...she kissed me."

She smiled; though he was too embarrassed to look at her, she could tell by the raise of his cheek that he was smiling too. But she could also sense the pause, the hesitation. Here came the 'but' of the story.

"What happened?" she asked softly.

Still turned away, Marcue took a deep breath. "It was about a year after the kiss. My parents...it just got real bad that night. It's all a blur, it happened so fast, and I've suppressed most of it. I don't even know what the fight was about. But I do remember Dad coming in and telling me to pack my things, we're leaving. Next thing I know we're outside marching away from the house, me in tears while dad tells me to shush up so I don't attract predators. I haven't seen my mother since. Or Laitina."

Letting out a shaky breath, he finally turned back to Zepheera, his eyes surprisingly dry, considering. "I dunno why I'm telling you all this," he chuckled sadly.

"One 'a those faces," she shrugged. "I get that from th- ...my uncle. Er, but I get it. Your dad and Tureen had Char, and you instantly loved her, wanted to protect her...and then your dad died, leaving you in charge of stepmum and your baby sister. Otherwise, you might've gone back years ago."

For the first time since that afternoon, Marcue stared at Zepheera like she was a ghost. "How...did you know?"

Her smile returned. "We're not so different."

"Heh...You have no idea," muttered Marcue under his breath, covering it up by pretending to scratch his cheek.

"And y'know," she continued, having not heard him, "I'm sure your mum and dad were great parents. It's just sometimes...two people are just better off without the other. But I bet your dad made a great borrowing teacher."

Marcue nodded.

"And I'd wager your mum sang for you, didn't she, when you were little?"

This managed to pull a light chuckle from Marcue. "Yeah, erm...I can almost remember this one song she used to do."

"Well c'mon, then, let's hear it!"

It took some coaxing, but finally he said, "Alright, okay! Lemme think..."

Marcue began to hum, uncertainly at first, then with growing confidence as he recalled the tune.

Zepheera instantly recognized the song as a lullaby she had heard growing up. As the song progressed, she couldn't stop herself from singing along.

_"Sometimes I feel happy, sometimes I f--"_  she paused when she realized Marcue had stopped humming to stare at her again. "...What is it?"

"I...didn't know there were words to that song." he breathed.

Zepheera blinked. "Really?"

He nodded. "Mum always hummed it."

Now it was her turn to stare at him, her mouth opening and closing in failed attempts to speak. How could the lyrics to a well-known lullaby be lost so easily?

Then again, Zepheera last heard it sometime in the thirties. Fifty years was a long time for a song to get muddled in the process of oral tradition.

"It's, ah, called 'Arrietty's Song'," she said finally. "My–my gran used to sing it to me before she passed," she added, feeling obliged to elaborate with a lie.

Marcue knit his brow. He ran a hand through his hair, apparently lost for words. Then he looked at Zepheera, bewildered. "Could...could you sing it?"

Shifting so she faced him, she answered, "Of course. Here, hum a few bars, I'll jump in."

He complied, humming the beginning. When the timing felt familiar, Zepheera cleared her throat and began softly:

_I'm fourteen years old, I am pretty_  
           _I'm a light-hearted little lady_  
_I live under the kitchen floor_  
_Right here, not so far from you..._

 

Cobble didn't release the Doctor until they'd reached the main room, and he took the opportunity to get his bearings. He immediately noticed the absence of Tureen and little Char. They must've gone home, he reasoned. Still no sign of Zepheera, or her gentleman friend.

_It's always a bloke, isn't it?_

Giving himself a mental shake to banish that thought, he swept the room with his eyes. The men were grouped at one table, laughing and chatting, and while Rosta personed the kitchen, Vermilion sat in a chair near the children's corner. He considered going over to join her when Cobble returned with two warm cups.

He took it, smelled it and swirled it a bit, and then took a small sip. It had a milky consistency, and yet a minty, herbal taste to it. It left a cool feeling on his tongue after swallowing.

But as he did, he felt another tug at his sleeve. Cobble had hung around, perhaps to watch him. She was shaking her head at him, as though he'd done something wrong. When he gave her a confused look, she raised her own cup to her lips and took a long, slow, animated sip, beckoning him to do as she did. He repeated her actions, and was just about to swallow again when he noticed her cheeks bulging in and out, as though she were sloshing the liquid around in her mouth. He copied her, the two of them sloshing for about thirty seconds to a minute before finally swallowing. The Doctor noticed that his entire mouth now felt refreshed, much cleaner than it felt earlier.

It was all the Doctor could do to not burst into excited giggles. _Oh!_ how brilliant this was! It was easy to assume that, given their size, a toothbrush would not be an easy thing for a borrower to conjure up. But to create an entirely new method of cleaning their teeth—the Doctor could barely contain himself.

But he did, settling on a thankful smile down at Cobble, who smirked back before leaving his side once more. She gave her cup and what was left of her Night Drink back to Rosta, who was cleaning up in the kitchen, and the child wended her way to the curtain on the far side of the room, bidding people goodnight on her way to bed.

With a small chuckle to himself, the Doctor took another drag from his cup for round two – have to get those difficult spots behind the teeth. Halfway through swallowing, his ears perked up at a sound he hadn't noticed before. To his left, by the children's corner, as she sat peacefully rubbing her distended belly in little circles with her thumb, Vermilion was humming. It was a slow, melancholy tune—a lullaby, the Doctor realized. (The same tune that, unbeknownst to them, Zepheera was singing for Marcue.)

Curiosity piqued, he slowly made his way over, pulled up a small wicker footstool and sat nearby, at a reasonable distance so she was aware of his presence but kept humming.

The Doctor couldn't stifle a grin if he tried.

 

_Sometimes I feel happy, sometimes I feel blue,  
          In my dreams, oh, I wish I could_

_Feel my hair blowing in the wind_  
_See the sky in a summer rain_  
_Pick a flower from the garden for you_  
_Beyond the lane there's another world_  
_Butterflies floating in the air_  
_Is there someone out there for me?_

Zepheera closed her eyes. In her mind's eye, she was nine years old, sitting on the floor of her bedroom with red, puffy eyes, massaging the spots on her arms and legs where the bruises would be if it weren't for her healing abilities. She pressed her ear to the thin wall to listen as her mother sang to little one-year-old Kernel. Zepheera's eyes began to tear up once more as she softly sang along with the song that had never been sung to her.

_And so life goes on day after day_  
_With knick-knacks on the floor,_  
_Nooks and crannies_  
_I know somewhere in the world,_  
_Out there, someone waits for me..._

Little Zepheera broke into silent sobs.

_I wish I had someone to watch over me,  
          In my dreams, oh, I wish I could_

_Feel my hair blowing in the wind_  
_See the sky in a summer rain_  
_Pick a flower from the garden for you_  
_Now I know there's another world,_  
_Butterflies floating in the air_  
_There is someone out there for me..._

Back in the tree, Zepheera jumped up an octave for the last refrain.

_Now I know there's another world,_  
_Butterflies floating in the air_  
_There is someone out there for me..._

Upon opening her eyes, she was surprised to find them dry, especially after she'd unintentionally unearthed such an old and unpleasant memory. But when she turned to Marcue, she realized that _his_ eyes shone instead, the moonlight reflecting off his tears.

"What's wrong?" she asked, concerned.

Marcue shook his head, smiling through his tears. "Nothing at all," he replied, wiping his cheeks with a sleeve. He chuckled wetly, turning away from Zepheera, who was confused but kept quiet.

After a moment, Marcue's gaze suddenly turned upward.

"You were right," he managed, his throat sounding tight with emotion. "The stars are beautiful."

 

The lights in the Furnace's home were turned off well before Zepheera returned. The party simply ended, everyone had either gone home or to bed. All except the Doctor, sat on the edge of the bed in the guest room, waiting.

It was dark in there as well; all of the lights were connected to the same switch. The only light came from moonlight leaking through the floorboards overhead.

When at last the door opened, the Doctor shot to his feet. Zepheera leaned back against the door and let out a long breath before wending her way toward the bed, tugging off her jacket.

She couldn't see him yet, the Doctor realized, and so he stepped into one of the small patches of light from above, crossing his arms.

"Where've you been?" he asked quietly.

Zepheera jumped in surprise, her head whipping around to him. She sighed in relief when she registered who it was.

"You scared me–"

"Tonight, Zepheera, where did you go?" he pressed.

She blinked, her skin beginning to prickle at his dangerously quiet tone. "Just out for a bit–"

"A _bit?"_ echoed the Doctor.

Biting back a grimace at the realization that he was more cross with her than she thought he'd be, she replied, "I know, I know, but honestly, I didn't think we'd be gone that long. I just forgot, I promise."

"Oh, right, you were _so_ busy gallivanting off with your little boyfriend that you didn't for a _second_ think to tell me where you were going? _Especially_ if you were going outside!" Though he kept his voice at a stage whisper, the intensity was there and palpable.

Zepheera had been about to say 'he's not my boyfriend' when he barreled through, and she was taken completely aback. "How did you know we went–" she began, but was once again interrupted when the Doctor lifted a hand to tap his nose with a finger.

"Time Lord. Frankly, you reek of grass and pine."

Zepheera rubbed her eyes with a sigh. "Okay, I know I should've told you, but I'm here, I got back, I didn't get stepped on or eaten by anything, it's not a big deal."

"'Not a big deal'??" the Doctor repeated, stepping toward her.

"Is there an echo in here, or is it just you?"

Ignoring her, the Doctor said as he approached, "It's rule one: don't wander off! And for once, I thought I'd actually found someone who understood that. But I guess I was mistaken."

"Oh, don't start, it's not like I was in any danger!"

"You're a borrower, you're _always_ in danger!"

All went quiet for the longest moment. Zepheera split it with a half-chuckle, half-scoff. Shaking her head, almost in disbelief, she locked her gaze with the Doctor's.

"Is that really all you've learned from this?" she whispered slowly, her words hanging heavily in the air.

Silence returned, filled only by the Doctor and Zepheera, practically nose to nose, staring the other down.

Finally, the Doctor broke off. "Doesn't matter," he grumbled as he paced the room, shoving his things into his rucksack. "Pack your things, we're leaving first thing in the morning."

Zepheera huffed in frustration, much too tired to argue, and she turned to pick up her bigger-on-the-inside knapsack. "Y'know, I expected to go to sleep, not get a bollocking from you," she muttered.

"You watch your mouth, young lady!" snapped the Doctor.

In the half-second before Zepheera's reaction, the Doctor froze and frowned at himself. _Where had that come from?_

As for Zepheera, that did it.  Her back stiffened and she stomped over to him, absolutely fuming.

"I am _not_ a young lady," she emphasized, finger pointing angrily, "and don't you _dare_ treat me like one! You're not my father, and you are _certainly_ not the boss of me!"

With that, she shouldered her knapsack and stormed off toward the door.

"Where are you going?" the Doctor called after her.

"Borrowing!" she hissed over her shoulder, slamming the corrugated cardboard door with an extremely unsatisfying muffled thud.

The Doctor kicked the bed frame, then dropped back onto it, running a hand down his face. This trip had been meant to bring himself and Zepheera closer together. And it only seemed to tear them apart.

 

After minutes upon minutes of trying to get past the surrealism of the night, Marcue finally gave in to sleep. He was nearly out when a soft noise started to pull him back. He heard his door close and light footsteps cross toward him, and when he opened his eyes he saw a shadowy figure that wasn't his stepmother or his little sister.

"Zepheera?" he slurred, still waking up. He struggled to sit upright, his muscles tired and still aching for sleep.

"Good," she whispered, "you're awake." She grabbed him by the crook of his arm and pulled him to his feet. "You should get dressed."

He frowned, squinting through the darkness to make out her expression. Was she winding him up? Or was she serious?

"Dressed? For what? What's going on?" Now he was really alert.

"We're going borrowing, that's what," said Zepheera with grim determination.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Laitina - lay uh TEEN uh
> 
> And yes, I changed the lyrics a bit for Arrietty's song from the Studio Ghibli adaptation, which I do not own, a bit.


	8. Exodus: Part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I haven't updated in over a year. Sorry about that.  
> Long story short, big life changes, been revising older installments to this series (hopefully for the better) and basically I decided to break up this extra long chapter into three parts. Here's the first, the second should be up soon.
> 
> Happy Thanksgiving!

Zepheera aimed her lantern at the unlit Christmas lights that lined the corridor, and she followed them to wherever they may lead. Trailing quietly behind her, Marcue eyed his companion with no small amount of worry as he considered how to word the question he had on his mind.

"Alright, come on, now," Zepheera muttered under her breath as they walked. "There ought to be something nearby here; a door, or a hole, or–" Beaming suddenly, she skipped ahead, pulling Marcue along until they stood before a slightly elevated rectangular hole in the wall, covered by a slab of plastic dotted with six portholes in two sets of three; several wires were connected to it and went off into the darkness. "Or an outlet," Zepheera finished with a confident smile at Marcue, passing him the lantern. With her hands freed, she began to feel around for the loose end of the makeshift portal to the main area of the house.

She could practically hear the Doctor now, asking, _'What's with the paint here?'_ Dark paint had been slathered on the plastic in one corner and a cross between a check mark and an 'x' had been scratched in. Running her fingers over it, she imagined him muttering, thinking aloud, _'Obviously means something, no point in decoration 'round here. Could be a warning, or a message.'_

Instead of mentally telling the voice to shut up like she would've very much liked to, she climbed a steep step up to the outlet and began pushing on the hard plastic, occasionally pounding it with her fist; all the while, she pictured herself explaining to the Doctor: _'More like a note-to-self. Things like this, it's easy to tell from this side if they're in use, but if we find one that's always blocked or obstructed or simply never used, we mark it. Time-saver, really.'_

She promptly scolded herself for even imagining such a situation, and with a grunt of effort, she said to Marcue, "Could you give me a hand? This is actually quite tight."

Broken out of his thoughts, Marcue set the lantern at his feet and leaped up to join her. It took a bit of teamwork and effort, but the two managed to heave it loose and gently ease it down to the floor outside.

"That's usually easier," she mused, wiping her dust-covered hands on her trousers. "Must not be used as often."

She quickly realized why as she peered through the hole they'd made. It opened out behind a sofa or some other large piece of furniture, and it looked like a rather tight squeeze. Not too tight for a pair of matchsticks like Marcue and herself, she thought as she stuck her head out and took a look to the left and the right. She hoisted herself up and out, landing with a soft thud on the hardwood floor. Waving away the thin cloud of dust that erupted from her feet, she turned to smirk up at Marcue. "Well, come on!" she said enthusiastically.

Biting his lip, Marcue retrieved the lantern and climbed out after her, and the two of them ran along the narrow space between the wall and the sofa, stopping only when they emerged into the open sitting room.

While Zepheera was taking in her surroundings, Marcue finally steeled his courage, sucked in a determined breath, and asked, "What are we doing here, Zepheera?"

"Simple," she replied, turning in a slow circle to see the entire room. "I would've gone borrowing on my own, but I needed someone who knows the landscape. And besides, with two we'll be able to watch each other's back. It also doesn't hurt that I enjoy your company."

Her judgment was so clouded in that moment that she didn't realize how selfish she sounded until much later. Marcue noticed right away, though, and his concern grew by the minute.

"You know damn well what I mean," he said firmly, clicking the lantern off and strapping it to his hip; the moonlight was more than satisfactory lighting and rendered the little device useless. He frowned when she seemed to ignore him, setting off briskly in a decided direction. Following her, he continued: "Why did you drag me out if bed to go borrowing in the middle of the night? And why are you acting so...so..."

"So...?" she urged without breaking her stride or looking back.

He huffed; he was really going to make him say it.

"Strange," he uttered at length.

"Oh-ho-ho!" Zepheera gave a forced laugh. "Trust me, Marcue, you couldn't even begin to understand how strange I _really_ am."

"Well, maybe I could," he countered. "Maybe you're not the only one full of surprises. Full of secrets."

Zepheera stopped dead in her tracks, turning on her heel to face Marcue, who just barely had enough time to skid to a stop. They were less than an inch apart when they became still.

Marcue could plainly see that she was reading him or sizing him up, trying to figure out what he meant without asking. The eerie light cast a shiver-inducing shadow across her scrutinizing expression. The remnants of a wavering smirk tugged ever so slightly at her lips and her eyebrows drew close together. But the things that really gave him chills were her eyes. They were cold, stern, and defensive–like an injured, feral animal ready to lash out at any sign of danger. But they also revealed to him a hurt that, try as she might to hide it, was most prominent to him. His own expression couldn't help but soften at the sight of them.

She broke eye contact within minutes, turning her back to him. "This way to the kitchen, yeah?"

Her tone was quieter; it lacked the earlier arrogance that she'd been hiding behind. Marcue breathed a small sigh of relief that he must've gotten through to her, and that she was thinking clearly once again.

He assured her that they were heading for the kitchen. They were already out and a good distance away from his place. Now that she was in her right mind, this might turn out to be a quick trip. 'Why not?' he thought, 'especially if it means spending precious time with her before she leaves.'

In the kitchen moments later, Zepheera and Marcue were scaling a chair on their way up to the tabletop; the former had suggested a midnight snack before returning home, so the trip wasn't wasted, and the latter offered that there was always a tin of small tea biscuits big enough for the two to split one kept on the table in the middle of the kitchen. But once they were up, they were disappointed to find it all but bare.

"That's odd," Marcue muttered to himself, scratching the back of his head. "Maybe they moved it..." He eyed the cupboards on the other side of the room, considering them.

 Zepheera hummed thoughtfully, her eyes meandering around the kitchen. She'd been unable to get a very good look around the first time, and so rarely did the opportunity arise. She was always straight to business when it came to borrowing; her uncle—her real one—used to say that a good borrower was an expeditious one. But it was nice to sit and notice the finer domestic details of the human home.

And then something caught her eye that made her frown. She took a few steps forward, stopping when something under her foot crackled. Her gaze dropped to an envelope, lying adjacent to what looked like a pamphlet, but this was even less of a comfort.

"Marcue? Come here for a minute." Her voice was soft, practically a whisper. He was at her shoulder in a second. "You don't happen to be able to read, do you?"

"No," he replied. His father had never seen a purpose for a borrower to read, and since then Marcue had been too busy to learn on his own. "Why, can't you?"

Though she appeared calm, albeit pale, her brain was panicking as she stared down at the pamphlet and envelope, unable to decipher a word written on either. In answer to the question she was vaguely aware of, she shook her head dully. "But, er...don't worry, th– my uncle can, he'll help us sort this out."

Marcue nodded. He too wore a frown now, extremely suspicious of the tri-folded paper—especially the yellow icon in the corner that bore a black skull and crossbones. He involuntarily shuddered. Whatever this was, it couldn't be good.

He blinked when he realized that Zepheera was hurrying across the tabletop and getting ready to drop onto the cushioned seat of the chair. "I-I'll come with you," he said, starting to follow her.

"No!" Her head snapped up and she raised an arm to stop him despite the fact that he was still a ways off.

The urgency of her tone froze his feet. He raised a confused eyebrow at her as she seemed to pull herself together.

"I mean...you stay here. I'll go get him, won't be two minutes. Okay?"

Hesitantly, Marcue agreed. He knew that staying here served no real purpose, but he reasoned that she must want to speak with her uncle alone. As he watched her go, he sighed and ran a hand down his face, wending his way back to the mysteriously ominous pamphlet.

"I have to tell her..." he mumbled to himself. He felt guilty keeping her in the dark. But looking back at the pamphlet, he realized that lives could be at stake. "...Later," he decided, taking a seat with his back to the literature.

 

Zepheera knew the Doctor would be awake when she arrived, his sleeping pattern seemed much more lax than anyone's on Earth. It was with this knowledge that she carefully planned out what she was going to say. If she didn't get the first word in, she wouldn't get any in. But as she silently approached the guest room door, she hesitated. Prepared as she was, this was probably not going to be pretty.

Shaking her head at herself, she steeled her resolve and shoved open the door.

As predicted, the Doctor lay awake on the bed, tossing a button the size of his head to himself. It had been in the air when she entered, and as he turned his attention to her he seemed to forget all about it, hardly noticing that it landed on his stomach with a soft thump.

"Look, I know you're livid, and you probably have the right to be," she began, speaking fast, "and actually, I probably have the right to be too, but that's beside the point. The point is, Marcue and I found something that might be trouble, and I need you to come and have a look at it, because we don't know what to make of it."

She inhaled deeply, having said all this in one breath. By then, the Doctor had sat up, the button had fallen into his lap, and he was regarding her with a raised eyebrow and an otherwise unreadable expression.

"What kind of trouble?" he asked, surprisingly gentle in his tone, considering the circumstances. "Does it seem like aliens?"

Zepheera blinked, taken aback. For one thing, she had half-expected a shouting match–or the equivalent one could have when trying not to wake everyone. For another, that was quite possibly the one question she hadn't expected, though now that she thought of it, it seemed like the most obvious thing. Of  _course_  he would assume it was aliens, what else would he think if she came asking him to identify a problem.

Her eyes lowered and she bit her lip. "Well, er, not exactly. At least I hope not. But, erm...see, it's a pamphlet that Marcue and I found, and I think there's something on the calendar in the kitchen that might give us a clue, but Marcue can't read and, well..." She swallowed to moisten her cotton-dry throat. "...Neither can I."

Now both the Doctor's eyebrows were in danger of vanishing into his hairline. He glanced once at the door behind Zepheera, as though wondering if anyone was listening in, then looked back at her, a small smirk playing at his lips. "Y'know, you can tell me if it's that important. I know we're supposed to stay in character and it makes sense for you to  _not_  be able to read, but for now there's really no need..."

He trailed off when Zepheera managed to look at him once more. Her eyes shone. Though she wasn't exactly breaking down, this was clearly upsetting her. She wasn't lying.

Immediately, his mind reeled with questions: How? When? Why? He knew for a fact that she could read, she'd said so herself when they first met. But that was before... He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Okay, well, we can worry about that once we get this whole mess sorted out. Lead the way." He stood, setting the button aside on the bed.

Zepheera simply nodded, moving swiftly but quietly out the door and through the little home, the Doctor following closely behind.

"I assume he's waiting for you like the hopeless case he is," he teased.

"Shut up," she hissed.

 

Marcue waited patiently, the moments spent alone in the dark quiet dragging at a slug's pace. Finally he sensed the faint sound of footfalls approaching on the tile, and watched as a grappling hook flew up and sank its tooth into the wood of the table. Zepheera and the man he knew as Aster shortly came into view. Marcue shot to his feet at their approach, opening his mouth to say something, but the man walked straight past him before he could utter a sound.

The moment the Doctor laid eyes on the pamphlet, he frowned. "Well, that's not good," he muttered, scratching at his chin.

"Why? What is it?" asked Marcue.

Zepheera approached, glancing from the Doctor to the pamphlet and back. "Pest control?" She had already guessed this, and his reaction seemed to confirm it.

Seemingly ignoring Marcue, the Doctor nodded at Zepheera. "Not just any pest control, but one specializing in whole-structure fumigation," he added ominously.

"But...that doesn't necessarily mean anything, right? All it proves is that they're maybe considering it." Optimism was far below secondary in a situation like this, but if the danger were immediate, the Doctor would know.

Catching on, the Doctor turned to face her full-on and replied, "Yeah, but the question is: if that were the case...then where is everyone? Where's all the food?" He gesticulated widely at the cupboards lining the kitchen, all empty.

Zepheera glanced at a pale Marcue who evidently shared her thought; that would explain where the biscuit tin had gone.

“And then, of course, there’s the obvious,” the Doctor continued, pointing at the envelope. “This is made out to the company, clearly some kind of payment for them.

"Okay, so we should be worried," Zepheera conceded.

He nodded. "And lucky for us, borrowers thrive with humans who live by a routine, giving us a surefire way of knowing if that worry should turn into action. And lucky for me, I happen to know the only borrower in this entire house clever enough to think of it." With a wink in Zepheera's direction, he lifted his chin to squint at the calendar hung up on the wall across from them.

It was evidently August in the year 1993; a little off from their goal but relatively unimportant to the situation at hand, so the Doctor kept this little fact to himself. There were several dates marked throughout the month, but the day of the fumigation was written in red pen on a Friday, with a line connecting its square to the Saturday and Sunday on the next tier. It would be a three-day process.

He suddenly snapped his fingers and pointed at Marcue, who had resigned himself to be left out of the conversation.

"You, Marky-boy."

"Marcue," he corrected.

"That's what I said. If I had asked you during dinner tonight what day it was, what would you have said?"

Making an honest effort to not roll his eyes, he replied, "Thursday."

"And the date?" the Doctor pressed, brow raising higher.

Marcue shrugged, he didn't usually pay attention to such things. "I dunno, I think the twelfth?"

The Doctor's head snapped back to the calendar. "I was afraid of that," he said, and then to Zepheera mumbled, "Oh, why did it have to be Friday the thirteenth? There's always trouble when I land anywhere  _near_  Friday the thirteenth!"

"There's always trouble when you land  _anywhere_ ," Zepheera informed him in an equally quiet tone. Even with her newfound inability to read, she quickly deduced that the fumigation was, by technicality, today. Grabbing the Doctor by the sleeve, she spun him back toward the rope she'd left at the table's edge. "Come on, you two, we've got to warn everyone."


	9. Exodus: Part II

"Tow'er!" the Doctor hissed as he shook the sleeping man's shoulder. "Marjora! Wake up!" Borrower's intuition had Tow'er up in an instant, but Marjora took a little longer. "I'm sorry to wake you—wait, no! Actually no, I'm not, because this is important and you're all in danger."

Meanwhile, back at his home behind the mantle, Marcue was warning his hung-over stepmother, "There are people coming, people who are going to fumigate the entire house–"

"–and they'll be here in a matter of hours."

"But what does that mean, 'few-mee-gate'?" Vermilion worriedly clutched her husband's arm in reaction to Zepheera's news.

"They're, ah, gonna fill the house with poison gas,” Strapley explained, to his wife's horror, “every last nook and cranny."

"How awful..." she gasped.

"Couldn't agree more," said Zepheera, "which is why we all have to get out of here."

"Pack for several days," the Doctor told Noz and Cobble while their parents did just that. "Clothes, small personal things, essentials for travel and protection."

"Change into your borrowing outfit, or anything in dark earth tones. Boots are great assets, and any small weapons you can carry with you," Zepheera instructed the Clocks, mainly Vermilion who was scurrying about the house at the fastest pace possible for a woman somewhere in her third trimester, trying to do as she was told; not wanting her to strain herself, Zepheera stayed along to help the woman pack. Both were confident that Strapley knew what to do. "And dress with layers," she added to the both of them, "no doubt it'll be chilly out there."

"Plenty of water, and absolutely NO food," Marcue emphasized to the Vents, who were close neighbors of his own family. "It'll attract predators, and we want to avoid that as much as possible. So if any of you are hungry, I'd get that taken care of _before_ we leave." Rosta, Osier, and Cog nodded their agreement (some more reluctantly than others) and Marcue concluded, "We'll regroup at the Furnaces' home–"

"–because theirs is the closest to an outdoor exit that's safe for a group as large as we're gonna have," Zepheera announced.

"And hopefully, we can come up with a plan that everyone can agree on. Together," said the Doctor with finality to Tow'er in an aside.

*******

"Everyone, listen up!" Tow'er shouted over the low but constant hum of worried voices. The borrowers were now huddled in the Furnaces' sitting room once again, this time with bags and supplies. Having gotten their attention, he motioned for them to gather around the coloring table where the Doctor was hunched over several scraps of paper, still scribbling. He looked up when the room got quiet and realized everyone was staring at him. With a sniff, he positioned his work so it could be seen easily by his audience.

"Right. The best plan we've got is this: you lot—and please don't panic over the word I'm about to use because this is most definitely _not_ permanent—emigrate to the house across the field which Marky-boy here so generously suggested."

"Still Marcue."

"Heard you the first time. Annnyway," the Doctor deflected, turning to his faux-strategy map and using his colored pencil tip as a pointer. "I say again: there's no need to panic. Most everything here, aside from food and the like, will be practically untouched by the poison, so it will be completely safe to return here after a few days.

"And, I realize that some of you are—shall we say, _unaccustomed_ to outdoor travel, which is why I propose we travel in three groups, with our most vulnerable in the middle and those of us familiar with self-defense on the outside. Including breaks, it should take about five hours if we maintain a good pace. Questions? Concerns? Comments? Great! Now to assign groups." He tossed aside his plan, lying flat a clean sheet and preparing his makeshift writing utensil with flourish. He quickly scratched out three columns, labeling them appropriately.

A hand went up in the crowd – "Wait, question!" – and Vermilion shoved her way to the front. The Doctor regarded her with a raised brow. "If you're a nomad, how comes you can write?"

He smirked. "I wasn't always a nomad." Waggling his eyebrows at her, he quickly became serious again as people volunteered for groups.

Group two was the first to be filled. Vermilion was a no-brainer. Next came Noz and Osier, mostly through the suggestion of others. Many felt that since the couple still planned to be married the instant they were all safe and sound, they should make sure they got there in one piece. Then Cobble, and Marjora, though she could hold her own quite well, wanted to stay within arm's reach of her daughters.

Group one filled fast as well. Tow'er, the Doctor, and Zepheera were obvious candidates. It wasn't a surprise that Marcue volunteered as well; what struck a chord, however, was that he insisted to bring Char into the first group as well.

He and the Doctor had gotten into a bit of a row over that. While the Doctor argued that group one was strictly defensive and what if something were to happen and she got caught in the middle, Marcue informed him that his little half-sister was tired and frightened, and she distrusted anyone outside their family when she was scared, regardless of who they were. That came down to himself and Tureen, and he asked the Doctor if he honestly thought that Char would be safer with Tureen in group three, another so-called defensive group. Looking at the woman in question, sitting on her luggage with her eyes shut, rubbing her temples, seemingly blind and deaf to the discussions being held, the Doctor finally conceded.

"But she's your responsibility," the Doctor pressed.

At this, Marcue smirked. "When isn't she?"

Group three, despite the original plan, ended up being the leftover group, so to speak. Three borrowers made up this group: Tureen, previously mentioned, Cog, and Strapley. The latter was the only volunteer; he had originally signed up for group one, but after seeing how undermanned the final group was decided to switch. He also mentioned that there ought to be _someone_ with actual defense knowhow present, to make sure that everyone in the middle, especially his pregnant wife, made it through safely.

*******

Exiting the house was perhaps the hardest part because it had to be done perfectly. After the first group slunk out of the foundational grating, the next one had to wait until their predecessors got about a foot to a foot and a half away before making their own exit. Thankfully, and impressively without any sort of signal, it was executed well and the motley crew of borrowers (and one shrunken Time Lord) were on their way.

Few in the company were physically prepared for the long walk, with the exception of those who borrowed on a regular basis and the travelers who were prone to running. There were complaints of sore feet, aching legs, pleas to slow down. Eventually these all died down when it sank in: like it or not, they all had to endure this trek for the next several hours, and no amount of complaining would change that.

And if Milly, who hadn't yet uttered one word of negativity, could tough it out, then so could they.

However, nature wasn't making the trip easy either. The unkempt grass they trudged through was unforgiving: thickly set stalks, matted shoots that ended somewhere overhead and unseen, filled with tangled earth-hugging stems that seemed to reach up and trip them maliciously and little spiky things the size of their hands that clung to clothes and irritated the skin of those unfortunate enough to get stuck. And the blades of grass themselves seemed soft at the edges, but would glide across the skin in such a way to draw blood out of the thinnest of scratches. Although everyone was advised to cover up beforehand, those with light hair even going so far as to cover their heads with caps or scarves to avoid glare from the moon, nothing could stop the grass from cutting their hands and cheeks.

It was a miracle when they broke free of this insect-ridden terror and came upon a bike path worn through the foliage and dirt that led sinuously to their destination. If they had believed in a deity, the borrowers would have called this a godsend.

Marjora was a big help during the first break, taken an hour and a half after departure and several yards down the path. She alone carried medical supplies, but was unable to get to them until they'd all stopped; as a result, she'd sacrificed the hem of her long shirt for makeshift bandages, wrapped tightly around quite a few palms in her group. Strapley, too, had a similar issue, judging by the bindings on Cog's, Tureen's, and his own hands and the sorry state of the ends of his trouser legs.

While Marjora applied the antiseptic she'd brought in a small jar and supplied cleaner bandage substitutes, everyone else checked each other for ticks or fleas and passed out canteens of clean water. And once everyone was set, they regrouped and continued on.

Gazing up at the star-filled sky, the Doctor pondered over which direction he would go after all this was over, and briefly on whether or not he'd have company. He looked at Zepheera, who was ahead of him. Her eyes were trained upward as well, but clearly for a different reason than the Doctor; she looked this way and that, watching out for birds of prey and listening for other predators. Then she glanced back at Marcue, with his little sibling hanging onto his back and his luggage dangling from his front, before turning back to her diligent watch.

Though they had only met earlier that day, the Doctor could sense a strong connection between her and the boy. Knowing Zepheera's personality, he wouldn't go so far as to call it love, but something strangely profound had definitely formed. The question was if such a bond was enough to make her want to stay. For now, the Doctor just put it out of his mind. That would have to wait until this whole ordeal had blown over and all the others were safe.

He shoved his hands into his coat pockets, the fingers of his left hand rubbing against the cool metal of Lady Khardenia’s ring, the size of a bracelet to him now. Earlier in private, he had suggested to Zepheera that he could use it to return to his normal size, find a safe mode of travel for the borrowers, and ferry them to the other house within five to ten minutes. Incredulous that he had even brought the thing— “Just in case!” the Doctor had insisted when she confronted him about it—she made it perfectly clear that such an abrupt change in his stature would cause an uproar.

“There’s already an uproar,” the Doctor had countered.

“A _bigger_ uproar!” Zepheera snapped. “A six-foot-tall matchstick of an uproar!”

“Oi!” protested the Doctor, turning Zepheera’s attention away from packing. She’d stared at him confusedly as he straightened his jacket proudly. “Six-one.”

“Not. Happening.”

That had been her last word on the matter. Still, he didn’t regret bringing it. _Who knows_ , he thought, _might still come in handy_.

The Doctor spent the rest of his time until the next break chatting with Rosta. She had been an unexpected last-minute addition to the first group; her outdoor experience made her a capable candidate for group three, which was sorely in need, but she insisted that she be added to the first. Apparently, she and Cog had had a row earlier in the privacy of their own home and she preferred not to talk about it. The Doctor respected this and even admitted to the fight he’d gotten into with Zepheera.

This took Rosta aback. “Oh,” she all but whispered, eyes flitting to the borrower in question and back. “I’m so sorry to hear that, Aster. You two seem close.”  She offered a small smile, wishing she could be more of a comfort to the strange man.

The Doctor, of course, went right along on a different subject, eager to _not_ talk about his domestics either. True to form, he found plenty of other topics for them to talk about. He learned that Rosta grew up an outie and decided to move indoors for a change of pace when she came of age. She had three sisters and a brother, all younger than her, and aunts and uncles and cousins galore. She got morosely quiet after sharing a few happy memories about her family, so the Doctor distracted her by half-making up anecdotes about him and Zepheera. As a slow, interested smile tugged at her lips, he supposed this was what they had become for each other in their short time together: distractions.

Before long they reached a young tree and another break was called for. Almost everyone sat down along the roots with a relieved sigh, attempting to massage their feet through their boots and checking themselves over for bugs. As he leaned on the base of the trunk, the Doctor peered up at the house ahead. It was much smaller than the other house, but no less humongous to the borrower-sized Time Lord. They were _so close_ ; by his estimate, they were just over 30 meters away. But a meter was significantly larger to a borrower, as he hardly needed reminding.

Rosta took a long pull from the canteen the Doctor offered her, glanced over her shoulder at group three, and then let out a long breath. “I’m going to talk to my husband,” she announced, standing up.

The Doctor’s brow shot up. “Are you sure?”

She nodded with a confident grin. “I have a feeling we all have things we need to work out right now. And I always say sooner is better than later.”

“Well…good luck,” said the Doctor.

“Thanks. You, too,” she replied, walking purposefully toward the back of the caravan.

The Doctor had just enough time to frown and wonder what she meant when he felt something tickling the back of his hand. He looked, finding a small spider crawling curiously along his skin. In surprise, he flinched and jerked his hand, tossing the small arachnid into a clearing in the grass. Just when it righted itself from an awkward landing, a familiar voice called, “Fore!” and the round end of a pin sent it flying further into the grass.

“And good for par!” Zepheera hissed triumphantly as she turned to sit on the root near the Doctor. She stabbed the pin into the dirt within arm’s reach, freeing her hands to fumble at the canteen she’d been given. Noticing the way he’d momentarily eyed the pin before forcing a smile at her, she sighed. “Yeah, I know, you hate weapons, and—“

“No, no,” he interrupted. “Well, obviously _yes_ , I do, but under the circumstances…What I mean is, I understand.” He scratched the back of his neck.

A small smile tugged at Zepheera’s lips. “Thank you.”

The two of them sat in awkward silence for about thirty seconds before Zepheera could bear it no longer.

“Look,” she began, staring at her wringing hands, “I wasn’t trying to disobey you or anything earlier, I just…got caught up in it all, and I didn’t even think about telling you where Marcue and I were going until we were already outside. But I really didn’t know we’d be gone so long, and if I had…what I’m trying to say is, I’m not irresponsible, just… If I could do it over again—“

“I’m sorry, too.” Her ramble was cut short by a supportive, comforting hand from the Doctor laid on her shoulder. She hadn’t even realized he’d come to sit next to her. She finally brought herself to look him in the eye. “All that stuff I said before…I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

Zepheera grinned and covered his hand with her own in thanks. In that moment, they felt the forgiveness of the other without it having to be said aloud, and they almost simultaneously got over themselves.

“Is this normal?” the Doctor asked, taking his hand back as he skimmed the small crowd around them. “This many borrowers in one house, I mean.”

“Oh, no!” Zepheera scoffed. “Never. Normally I’d say it was downright reckless. But in this case, with such a big house and that they’re practically one big family…it makes sense. So long as they spread out enough, the risk of being seen could be the same as the borrowers who live there.” She nodded toward the house that, they both realized, would soon be overrun with borrowers. The refugees would have to lay low somewhere until their own house was safe again.

But, Zepheera reminded herself, that wouldn’t be her and the Doctor’s problem, and she felt confident that they could make it work out. She looked back fondly at her people. So many living in one house… “And to think I used to believe we were going extinct,” she admitted.

“Extinct??” the Doctor all but exclaimed, whirling around to focus all his attention on her.

She nodded, glancing over her shoulder before leaning toward her friend. “When I was a kid,” she began in a lowered voice, “my uncle – my real uncle, Boston – could go on for hours about the Great War. In his day, the beans wouldn’t shut up about it. ‘The War to End All Wars’, they called it. Obviously, he didn’t know what ‘war’ was, but from everything he learned by eavesdropping on the beans’ talking box—er…their _radio_ …” Zepheera paused, scratching behind her ear in mild embarrassment. “He heard about _humans_ fighting and destroying each other, and none of it sounded good. All he could think about were the borrowers that were no doubt being slaughtered amidst the destruction, unbeknownst to the squabbling humans. He admitted that it was a big part of the reason he taught me to borrow despite others’ opinions on the subject. Sure, I turned out to be talented but even so, he feared that, best case scenario, I’d end up being one of the only borrowers left in the world because I’d outlive my family. This was all before my brother came along, of course.

“I didn’t fully believe him then, but…then a few years after I ran away, I lived through a war of my own. Boston had never actually seen any of the first war, but I saw plenty of the second. And after _seeing_ all the destruction I understood, and I felt the same way he did. And so have a lot of borrowers I’ve met who had to live through it.”

“I’m…so sorry that happened to you.” The Doctor empathized with his companion more than he’d originally thought. He considered giving her a hug, but—

“YOU BROUGHT _FOOD_?!”

—that would have to wait.

The unexpected volume of Rosta’s exclamation had the time travelers on their feet and alert immediately, along with a few others whose borrowers’ intuitions were already on edge. But at the sight of the ordinarily soft-spoken woman standing over her seated, portly husband, her ears pink and her eyes afire with rage, everyone froze and fell silent.

“L-listen, I can explain,” Cog stammered, eyes flicking from his wife’s face to the white-knuckled grip she had on a large bag, coated with wax to make it waterproof, containing anything but water. Even at a distance, Zepheera could make out the top of a raspberry and a tea biscuit. “Please, dearie—“

“Don’t you _dearie_ me!” screamed Rosta, and she cast the bag aside in pure anger, unaware and uncaring that they were now the center of attention. Its contents rolled out and into the grass, revealing more raspberries and tea biscuits along with dry cereal, chocolate, and even a small block of cheese. Several gasps sounded from the others, but Zepheera and the Doctor sprang into action. Anything could be attracted to the smells of Cog’s smugglings or the way Rosta’s yelling carried. But the Time Lord and the borrower had quite a distance of grass to wade through in order to put a stop to the madness that had surfaced.

“How could you, Cog?! Are you mad?? Or are you actually so stupid as to put all of us at risk just because you couldn’t go a few hours without nosh? Your family, your own son!”

“I d-didn’t—“

“Think? No, of course you didn’t. Ever since your injury, it’s been nothing but you, hasn’t it? I see it now! You couldn’t think of anyone but yourself if you tried! I’m beginning to wonder if you were ever injured to beg—“

Strapley’s hand muffled her next shout; his thinking was in the same vein as the Doctor and Zepheera’s, but he had been closer. By then, the aforementioned pair arrived at the scene, and the Doctor helped Strapley hold back the tall and rather strong woman back no matter how furiously she struggled, while Zepheera addressed the dumbstruck borrowers.

“Everyone keep calm! We can survive this, just quickly gather your things and make for the house. Not a sound out of anyone. I promise you all will be fine, so let’s not lose our heads here.”

The borrowers obeyed immediately given something to do, some way to deal with the distressful situation that one of their own had caused. Zepheera hurried to retrieve her and the Doctor’s luggage; Strapley went to help his wife, leaving only the Doctor to handle Rosta, who was almost his equal in height. But when he was distracted by something at the edge of his hearing, she broke free of his hold and rounded on her husband once again.

“You don’t even KNOW hungry, Cog Vent! Let me tell you about _starving_ , out here in the wilderness all winter, when the…”

She petered out when no one made a move to restrain her again. Her red vision suddenly cleared at the sight of how still and how pale all the others had become. Just as she was about to ask what the matter was, something shifted in the grass behind her. She heard large, snuffling breaths so uncomfortably nearby. Her blood turned icy the moment before a white hot pain shot through her leg and yanked her off-balance.

Rosta shrieked in the face of a monstrous rat, dragging her away by the leg in its long teeth.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments, kudos, etc. are appreciated! :)


End file.
